


The Lying Game

by ikuzonos



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikuzonos/pseuds/ikuzonos
Summary: After meeting by complete chance, Mukuro and Sayaka form a unique bond despite the abusive situations ruling their lives. And maybe, with a little bit of luck, they'll find a way out.





	1. After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains graphic descriptions of abuse. Please read with caution. I've worked very hard to avoid fetishizing/romanticizing this and similar situations.

There's still a light on inside of the all night drugstore, and that, coupled with the label ‘all night’, indicates that it should be open.

Unfortunately, the doors are locked, and no amount of shaking them will make them budge. From the entrance, one single employee is visible, and he’s passed out at the counter. Mukuro bangs on the glass a couple more times, squinting as the harsh white lights burn against her eyes, then gives up when the employee doesn’t stir.

The cut on her leg stings sharply. Mukuro glances at the black sock that’s tied around her leg to prevent bleeding and shudders. It shouldn’t be an issue, really, but it’s eleven at night, and there’s no rubbing alcohol in her first aid kit.

The only gleam of light in the parking lot comes from a solitary street lamp, and even that is a dark orange, and flickering nonetheless. Mukuro folds her arms around her chest and grips her elbows, her breath forming in front of her like a cloud.

Across the street, she can see a homeless man standing at the bus shelter, watching her. Shaggy grey hair, a frizzy beard, and an expression that makes her think that, if he was close enough, he’d say  _ You shouldn’t be out here so late. _

There’s a lot of things that Mukuro shouldn’t be doing right now. Shouldn’t be out this late, shouldn’t be in possession of a driver’s license, shouldn’t be standing on the steps of a closed twenty-four hour drugstore.

She looks at the employee, flips him off, then half walks half limps back to her car. She digs into the glove compartment for her phone, immediately going for Maps. According to the internal GPS, there’s a convenience store about a kilometre down, and it’s open. Unless of course, the sole employee is asleep in there, but Mukuro doesn’t really have anything else to try. Her wound is almost certainly infected, and there isn’t another pharmacy in the area that she hasn’t been to in the past three weeks.

Rotate, always. Don’t be seen by the same cashier twice. It only takes one vigilante who  _ really _ believes that they’re helping to ruin everything.

She throws her phone onto the passenger’s seat, where it smacks against the back of the seat and flies to the floor. She listens to the clatter and stares for a moment, then decides against picking it up. She has a sturdy enough case to keep it from cracking too badly.

Mukuro starts the engine and pulls out of the lot. Her leg twitches as she does so and she bites on her lip to numb the pain. It’s a three minute drive to the convenience store - in fact, probably less, due to the lack of traffic - but it feels like a lifetime.

She makes an easy to miss turn off of the highway and pulls into the new parking lot. There’s a couple other cars parked here and there, and if she looks over her shoulder and squints, she can see movement inside the store.

Thank goodness for small victories.

Mukuro opens the car door and carefully jumps out, landing on her right foot to minimize the pain. Once she has her balance, she locks the door behind her and limps up to the storefront.

The automatic doors slide open as she approaches, much to her relief. The harsh fluorescent lights makes the bruises up and down her legs more apparent, but it’s a small price to pay. Mukuro hobbles through the aisles in search of medical supplies.

Unfortunately for her, the store doesn’t seem to sell bandages or hydrogen peroxide. After poking through the shelves a fair amount and coming up with nothing, she considers asking the bespectacled attendant for help, but decides against potentially embarrassing herself. 

There’s individual rolls of toilet paper on the shelves, though. Mukuro stares at them, her stinging leg, then quietly picks up one of the rolls and tucks it under her arm. She glances around the bright aisles, trying to find something else to purchase with it. Going up to the register with just toilet paper might look a little strange.

Although, there is a purple haired man in line who’s carrying donuts, glue, and a canister of lighter fluid, so at least she won’t be the weirdest customer they see tonight. There’s a comfort in being able to slide under the radar like that.

She drifts through the store, looking for something that isn’t too overtly conspicuous. At the back of the store, a freezer cabinet filled with ice-cream stands out. Mukuro slides open the cold door and grabs the first container her hand touches - a small helping of cookie dough - and closes the door again.

With the two items in hand, she hobbles up to the counter. The purple haired man from before is luckily just in front of her, and the cashier doesn’t bat an eye as she scans Mukuro’s two items. She places them in a single-use plastic bag and hands them to her, repressing a yawn.

“Have… Have a nice night,” she mumbles, looking at the register with a dulled expression.

Mukuro waves silently and makes her way out of the store. Her eyes complain as she enters the darkness of the parking lot again, but she squints and forces herself forwards. 

Eventually, she slumps on the curb next to her car and throws her plastic bag to the ground. The ice cream container makes a vaguely concerning cracking noise, and she stares at the bag for a moment. When nothing else happens, she digs inside and produces the toilet paper, ripping open the plastic casing with her nails.

Gingerly, she removes the sock around her ankle, dropping it on the concrete. It’s soaked through with blood. It’ll be chucked in a dumpster later, then.

Mukuro tears off a few squares of paper from the roll and ties them around the wound. Her skin twitches under the paper, and she flinches. So much for being a soldier.

“Are you okay?”

Mukuro looks up from her less than stellar handiwork to find the source of the voice. Standing about a foot away from her is a woman with a hood pulled up. Her face is cloaked by shadows and her clothes look unwashed.

“I’m fine,” Mukuro snaps, blindly reaching out for the ice cream container. Busy hands. Busy hands.

The woman replies, “You’re wrapping toilet paper around your leg in a parking lot.”

“It happens,” Mukuro mutters, cracking open the ice cream container. There’s a wooden spoon inside, and she uses it to scoop some of the half melted confection into her mouth. The woman is still standing there. Mukuro raises an eyebrow, “Do you need something?”

She says, “You’re still bleeding.”

Mukuro looks down at her leg. Sure enough, the paper is nearly soaked through. She mutters, “Shit,” and bitterly tears it off, tossing it in the direction of her wrecked sock.

The woman sits next to her on the curb, half looking at her and half staring at her own feet. Mukuro attempts to ignore her as she ties another few squares of paper around her wound, this time adding second and third layers to hopefully stop the bleeding.

“What happened to you?” she asks gently, playing with the drawstring on her hoodie.

Mukuro says, “I don't know you, so why should I tell you?”

She rolls up her sleeve, exposing a burn scar that dances across her wrist, “Perhaps we could swap sob stories.”

Mukuro looks away, then grabs the plastic container and extends it to the woman, “Do you want some ice cream?”

For a moment, she actually seems shocked, “Huh? N-No, I can't, really.”

Mukuro asks, “You allergic?”

She shakes her head, “No, it's not that…”

“I gave you an out,” Mukuro says, snapping the wooden spoon in half and extending the dry part to the woman, “Now you don't have an excuse.”

She pushes Mukuro’s outstretched hand back, “It's my manager. He… He wouldn't like that, you see.”

“Your manager sounds like a piece of work,” Mukuro says, scooping some more ice cream into her mouth.

She laughs bitterly, “That's one way you could describe him. Who knows, though. Maybe he wouldn't care after all, considering his attitude as of late.”

Her eyes stay glued to the burn scar. Mukuro decides that it's better not to ask.

“You're bleeding again,” she adds softly.

“Goddammit,” Mukuro mutters, looking back at her leg. She ties a few more layers around the wound and sighs. 

The woman asks, “If you don’t mind… Why toilet paper, of all things?”

Mukuro mutters, “The pharmacy I tried going to was closed. The guy there was asleep at the counter.”

“I went there too!” she says, slamming her hand a little too hard against the curb, “I’m out of burn cream, and they don’t have anything useful at this place.”

Mukuro shrugs, “It  _ is _ a gas station. I wasn’t expecting much when I went here.”

The fact that this stranger has been to the same drug store as her is a little bit unnerving. Mukuro makes a mental note to change up her rotation as soon as she can.

Mukuro stuffs the remaining toilet paper into the plastic bag, “I should go. It’s going to be a bit of a drive back. Thanks for… talking to me, I guess.”

The woman pauses for a moment, “Oh, sorry to see you go. Uh… could I get your name?”

“Why?” Mukuro asks, a little too sharply.

The stranger replies, “It’s not very often that pretty girls in parking lots offer me ice cream.”

Mukuro blinks, “I… Ikusaba.”

“Nice to meet you!” she chirps. For a moment, she stares at the container, then scoops a bit of ice cream onto her half of the wooden spoon and shoves it in her mouth. Then, she says, “I’m Maizono.”

Mukuro offers what could be a smile, not that the gesture would reach her eyes any time soon, “Pleasure.”

Maizono hands back the container, “I can’t keep it, but thanks. I hope you get home safe.”

“You too,” Mukuro says, shoving the ice cream into the bag and getting to her feet. She limps over to the driver’s side of the car and gets inside, then takes a deep breath. 

That encounter was weird, to say the least. What kind of person randomly approached another in a dark lot? She glances out her window, but Maizono’s already begun walking away. Maybe that’s for the best.

Mukuro places her plastic bag onto the passenger’s seat, then leans over and retrieves her phone from the floor. A quick once over shows her that it’s not cracked, much to her relief. However, it won’t turn on. At some point during her adventure, the battery must have died.

Hopefully Junko wasn’t blowing it up the entire time.

Mukuro tucks it into her pocket, pulls on her seatbelt, and places her hands on the wheel. She moves to change the gearshift, when her leg spasms, and she slams against the back of her seat.

-

“You  _ dumb BITCH!” _

Mukuro flinched out of habit, bringing her arms in front of her face. It didn’t do anything, because Junko shoved her against the wall in the next second anyways.

“I-I’m sorry-” was all she got out before her sister slapped her with one hand and dug her fake nails into her shoulder with the other.

Junko hissed, “Are you? Are you really sorry, you fucking whore? You can’t do anything right!”

Mukuro wheezed, “I’m trying my best, I swear-”

Junko kneed her in the stomach, “Don’t fucking  _ lie _ to me! Unless… you’re doing it on purpose? That must be it! You keep fucking up my shots because it makes you look  _ soooo _ much better in comparison!”

She knocked Mukuro to the floor with a swift strike. She smacked against the ceramic tile and winced, but didn’t have time to fight back before Junko’s sharp toed high heels made contact with her skin.

The kicks gained momentum as Junko slammed her foot against her body. Mukuro forced her eyes shut, feeling the bruises blossom across her skin.

With tremendous force, the toe of her shoes tore into Mukuro’s leg, causing a jolt of pain to course through her body.

“P-Please! Junko-chan-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Junko screeched, “You fucking cunt, you got blood on my shoes! What do you have to say for yourself!?”

Mukuro clammed her mouth shut, not wanting to even  _ look _ at her twin, in case she managed to anger her again.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Junko spat, “We’re done for the night, sis, but I want you back bright and early for retakes.”

Mukuro rolled onto her knees and shakily got to her feet, darting out the door before Junko could change her mind. She ran as fast she could down the hallway until she reached the studio bathroom, then got inside and locked the door.

Her left leg was almost dripping, the dark red blood contrasting against the blue and black bruises. Mukuro ripped a paper towel out of the dispenser and dampened it, then pressed it to her leg. She repeated the process with several paper towels, until she figured it was as clean as it could be considering she was trapped in a public bathroom.

Mukuro peeled off one of her socks and tied it around the wound, wincing only a little. The fabric was hopefully thick enough to hold her blood in until she could get to some proper first aid equipment.

With that taken care of, Mukuro limped out of the bathroom, trying not to put any more pressure on her leg than she already had.

As soon as she got out of the building, Mukuro climbed into her car and dug around under her seat. She kept a small medical kit there in case of emergencies, which this almost certainly was.

“Shit.”

There were no bandages inside, nor any rubbing alcohol.

Mukuro reached down and touched the sock. It was hot, but not wet, and her hand came away clean. She tucked the plastic kit back under the seat and rubbed her eyes.

The list of available shops in the area ran through her head until she settled on an all night drugstore about twenty minutes from her current location. Mukuro turned her keys in the engine, feeling a tension headache - or maybe a concussion - forming in her skull.

-

It isn’t a long drive back to her apartment, especially considering that there’s only two or three other cars out on the road. The mind numbing procedure is actually a bit nice, considering that it stops her from overthinking her encounter with the woman.

What if she was a spy for Junko? The notion is ridiculous, but it isn’t totally impossible. Mukuro grits her teeth as she makes the turn into the parking for her apartment complex and stops in her usual spot by the stairs.

Mukuro snatches the plastic bag and gets out of the car, making sure to lock it behind her. She limps over, only to realize that she’ll never make it up the stairs in her present state. She sighs and settles for the elevator, pressing the yellowed button and waiting for the creaky steel doors to open.

She doesn’t like elevators - they’re small and enclosed, and with one error, the cables can snap or the box can get stuck between floors - but this one gets her to the fifth floor without issue.

Mukuro makes her way down the hall to her apartment and unlocks the door, missing the keyhole the first time due to her shaky hands. Once she’s alone in yet another small box, and leans against the door and sighs.

No place like home.

She places the plastic bag in the fridge, not wanting to deal with it. Sure, the ice cream will melt and god knows what the toilet paper will do, but it’s half past midnight and she doesn’t want to be awake any longer than she has to.

Mukuro enters her tiny bedroom and plugs her paperweight of a phone into the wall charger. It lights up after a minute or two and she types in her password. There haven’t been any messages - which isn’t surprising, since she only has Junko’s contact information and they’ve just had a fight - so she clicks it back off.

She lies down on her bed and stares up at the spackle ceiling until her exhaustion and residual pain lulls her to sleep.

-

The next evening, Mukuro drives down to the same drug store. Reasonably, she should go somewhere else, but she doesn’t want to arouse suspicion by turning up at a closer place multiple times in a month.

It’s easy to find everything she needs - bandages, hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, the whole works - and in a matter of minutes too.

The employee is the same one as the previous night. He looks absolutely exhausted as he checks her items through.

“Nice to see that you’re awake,” Mukuro says offhandedly as she hands him the money.

He blinks, “Er… I’m sorry?”

Mukuro says, “I came by last night, and you were passed out at the counter.”

His one visible eye widens before he pulls his cap down to hide his expression, “I’m so sorry, I- Here, let me give you a twenty percent discount-”

“It’s fine,” Mukuro bites her lip, wishing she hadn’t engaged him, “Have a good night.”

She quickly leaves the store hoping that he doesn’t call after her. It looks like she won’t be back a this drug store for a long time now.

Mukuro sits on the concrete next to the store and unwraps the toilet paper from her leg, casting it aside. She produces the roll of bandages and unravels it, preparing to rip it with her teeth, when she hears a voice.

“We’ve got to stop running into each other like this.”

She tenses up, snapping in the direction of the other person, only to pause. It’s Maizono again, in the same unwashed hoodie and dark sweatpants.

Mukuro raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs and sits down next to her, “Same as you, I bet. I wanted to actually buy things.”

Mukuro nods and returns to her bandages, when Maizono says, “I have some scissors, if you’d like.”

“Oh. Yeah, that would be nice, actually,” Mukuro says, hoping her face isn’t as red as it feels.

Maizono reaches into her pocket and hands them over. It’s a small pair, but it makes it very simple to snip through the fabric.

Mukuro hands the scissors back, “Thanks.”

“Here, let me help,” Maizono says, taking her hood off to reveal a head of long blue hair. Mukuro stares at her, stunned for a moment by her features, as Maizono takes the bandages right out of her hands and prepares to inspect her leg wound.


	2. Something Very Wrong

Despite being an idol, Sayaka doesn't really get out much. So for her, meeting a girl outside a convenience store might as well be the highlight of her week.

After getting a safe distance away, she turns around and squints out at the parking lot from behind the cover of a telephone pole. The strange woman -  _ Ikusaba.  _ She rolls the name around on her tongue. I-ku-sa-ba. A strange name, to be sure - is still sitting in her car, unmoving.

Sayaka tilts her head curiously. Something about Ikusaba intrigues her, but she isn’t sure if it has to do with the ice cream, whatever the hell happened to her, or something else entirely.

Ikusaba’s car starts suddenly and Sayaka feels her heartbeat speed up. She lets out a shaky breath and digs her nails into the wooden pole, her own bag of makeshift medical supplies banging against her arm. Ikusaba drives away and Sayaka finds herself watching her go until she’s out of sight.

Maybe it’s kind of weird. Kind of really weird. Not that it matters all that much, because there’s a one percent chance that they’ll ever meet again. And even if they do happen to encounter each other again, who’s to say that Ikusaba will even remember her?

Sayaka shakes herself and begins to walk. It’s a ways back to her apartment, and she doesn’t have much more borrowed time. She picks up her pace as she gets to the sidewalk, hurrying down the long blocks.

About halfway between the store and her complex, she passes a dumpster. Sayaka reaches into her bag, produces the box of bandaids and shoves it in her pocket, then throws the bag containing Ikusaba’s sock inside.

She had left it on the street, and while Sayaka felt both creepy and disgusted with herself for taking it, she had figured that Ikusaba wouldn't want clothing with her blood on it to be found by just anyone, assuming that they were in the same situation.

Sayaka continues to walk, ignoring the painful beat in her chest as she tries not to look back.

Her apartment looms in front of her as her watch ticks past the hour. Sayaka hurries across the street and into the building, ignoring the looks she gets from the half dead staff.

Normally she takes the elevator to her floor, but Sayaka doesn't want to stop moving. She runs up all nine flights of stairs, panting only a bit as she reaches the door with her number on it.

Sayaka flicks on the lights as she steps inside, locking the door and taking a few deep breaths.

Home sweet home.

Her phone is sitting right where she left it, on the kitchen counter. Sayaka grabs it and takes it with her into the bathroom, but doesn't bother turning it on. If she's missed ten calls from her manager, then so be it.

Sayaka opens the dusty mirror cabinet that hangs over her sink and places the box of bandaids inside. They won't do much for her tonight.

Her gaze falls on the empty tube of burn cream in her trash can. Briefly, Sayaka considers fishing it out and cutting open just to scrape the last bit of relief out of it, but then decided against it. The burn doesn't hurt anymore, anyways.

She runs a hand through her tangled and greasy hair, then shuts the cabinet and leaves the bathroom.

Sayaka sits down on her sofa and reaches for the mess of papers on the coffee table, when her phone buzzes.

It's a video call request from her manager, because who  _ else _ would try to contact her at ten to two in the morning? Sayaka grimaces, but slides her screen to answer.

“Hi, Kita-san,” she says quietly, “Is it an emergency?”

Kita smiles at her, and it's almost not unsettling, “Forgive me for intruding on you at this hour. I've been attempting to call you for quite some time, but you didn't answer.”

Sayaka digs her nails into the couch, “Sorry. I had a headache, so I went for a walk to clear my mind.”

Kita replies, “No issue. I'm not angry with you, believe me. But you should bring your phone with you next time. I don't like it when I don't know where you are.”

Bile rises in her throat. Sayaka says, “O-Of course. I didn't realize that I had forgotten it until I got back.”

Kita frowns, “Sayaka? You have residue on your teeth. Would you like to explain what you've been eating?”

Sayaka barely resists the urge to cover her mouth. She had barely taken any of the ice cream, so it shouldn't have left any traces. Kita seems to be expecting a response from her, his expression hardening with every passing second.

“It… It must be my toothpaste,” she says quickly, “I didn't rinse out my mouth after I brushed my teeth, so I guess some of it got stuck. I'll remedy that.”

Kita stares at her a moment longer, “See that you do. Good night, Sayaka.”

“Good night, Kita-san,” Sayaka gulps, letting out a sigh of relief as he disconnects.

Her stomach lurches. Sayaka runs into the bathroom, her head clouded, and only just makes it to the toilet before she vomits into it. 

When her stomach is empty, Sayaka gets to her feet and shakily teeters to the sink. Without looking her reflection in the eye once, she brushes her teeth and rinses her mouth out three times over, her manager’s unspoken words hanging over her like a thunderstorm.

-

“There,” Sayaka says proudly, tightening the bandage around Ikusaba’s leg, “You’re all fixed up.”

Ikusaba's lips twitch slightly, “Thanks. I appreciate it. Do you need any help with your…”

She gestures to Sayaka’s covered wrist.

She shakes her head, “No, I can apply the burn cream myself. Thank you, though.”

Ikusaba nods and the two sit in silence for a moment. Then she asks, “Why are you here? and I don't mean the store, why did you come around the side?”

Sayaka nervously strokes her hair, “Ah… It's kind of ridiculous, really.”

Ikusaba raises an eyebrow.

“It's just that… I heard your voice,” Sayaka confesses, “When you spoke to the cashier, and I got curious. You’re intriguing to me.”

Ikusaba blinks, “I… I am?”

Sayaka holds up her hands, “Ah, sorry, that sounded creepy, didn't it? I mean that… we’re the same.”

Ikusaba furrows her brow, “Why do you say that? Not to be rude, but I don't know anything about you.”

Sayaka rolls up her sleeve again. Ikusaba looks at her scars and nods her head once.

“Your manager… right?”

She doesn’t really phrase it like a question, but Sayaka responds, “You got it. What about you?”

Ikusaba brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, “I… I got into a fight with my sister. We argue a fair amount, but she’s never done anything like  _ this _ to me before.”

Sayaka’s eyes widen, “Your  _ sister _ did this to you? Er, I don’t mean to-”

“She owns me,” Ikusaba mutters, throwing a rock at the building across the way, “I work for her and she pays my rent and everything else. Without her, I have literally nothing.”

Sayaka leans forwards and tilts her head, “Nothing, huh?”

Ikusaba crosses her arms, “I can count the possessions I actually own on two fingers, and I’m wearing one of them. She controls my entire life.”

“So you can't leave her…” Sayaka murmurs, glancing down at her wrist.

Ikusaba says, “No. And I'm not entirely sure if I want to. She's my only family, so I have to stick by her, until the end.”

Sayaka nods, “I know what you mean. My manager… I hate him. But if it wasn't me, it'd be one of my b- co-workers. You see where that leaves me?”

Ikusaba says, “So it's a question of ethics. You leave to save yourself and he gets another victim. Stay and you risk your own life.”

Sayaka shrugs, “Well, not my life. He can't touch my face or my throat, because he still needs me. Better that it's something like this… He might have become a serial killer otherwise.”

Ikusaba asks, “I… see. Are you a singer, then? Or an actor?”

Sayaka tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to avoid the question, “Don't you see it now? Your sister, my manager… We're not that different.”

Ikusaba steels her gaze, “This could all be a lie. What if I'm planning to kill you? I used to be a soldier, you wouldn't even see it coming.”

“I'd accept it with open arms,” Sayaka says, “if it means that it wouldn't be him. You could make it painless, couldn't you? What do I have to lose?”

Ikusaba falters. There’s a look in her eyes, one that Sayaka’s seen in her own reflection many times before. When she speaks again, her voice is much lower, “Maybe we are the same.”

Sayaka tugs on her sleeves, unsure of where to proceed from there. She stares at the faded concrete as the shadows grow long across the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the sky turning orange and pink, as the sun sinks below the horizon.

“What do we do now?” Ikusaba asks, “I can't stay here much longer, and I doubt that you can either.”

_ She's right. _ Sayaka says, “I don't know, but I want to see you again.”

Ikusaba says, “I do too. But is there any way we could arrange that? It seems like us meeting has just been a series of accidents.”

Sayaka shrugs, “Yeah… It was coincidence that brought us here. But I want it to be fate. So let's put something together. Can… Can I have your phone number?”

Ikusaba shakes her head, “I- No. My sister goes through my phone and keeps track of every text and call I make.”

“Oh, my manager does the same thing,” Sayaka says.

Ikusaba raises an eyebrow, “Then what were you going to do with my phone number?”

Sayaka bites the inside of her lip, “I'm not sure yet, but I have… an idea. Tell me it, and I’ll call with the address of the next dingy parking lot we can meet at.”

“You'll only have ten seconds,” Ikusaba warns, “Any longer, and my sister will know that something’s up.”

Sayaka smiles, “I can do it in seven.”

Ikusaba crosses her arms, “I’ll hold you to that. It’s getting late, I have to get back before she notices that I’m not around. Bye, Maizono-san.”

Sayaka smiles softly and waves at her, “Okay. I’ll see you soon, Ikusaba-san. I’m- Ah, nevermind.”

Ikusaba twitches her lips again. Maybe that’s just how someone like her smiles. Sayaka watches her half walk half limp back to her car, her gaze again caught on her. She wonders if it’s weird to be so enamoured by a woman she barely knows, even if they share some surprising similarities. 

She waits on the cold concrete a tad longer, tracing the shadows with her fingers. Once she’s fairly certain that Ikusaba is a safe distance away, Sayaka gets up and begins to walk away from the drugstore. She has an idea, stupid as it might be, and not a lot of time to complete it.

Six blocks away, on the other side of the street, is a miraculously open SoftBank. Sayaka waits at the crosswalk for a few minutes as traffic goes by, then rushes across the road.

Inside the store, there’s only one employee - a girl with white hair and a smile too cheery all things considered - and she waves at Sayaka.

“Salut! How can Angie be of service to you on this lovely evening?”

Sayaka approaches the counter, nursing a knot in her stomach, “I’d like to purchase a prepaid phone.”

The woman - Angie? - beams, “Of course! Come with Angie, she'll show you the models available.”

Sayaka follows Angie to a small rack of phones. Compared to the rest of the store, these look like relics of the ancient past. Whatever. She wasn't looking for innovation.

Angie says, “Sorry about the lack of a selection! We sell out of prepaid phones very fast, and so there is never many choices.”

Sayaka glances around and then points at a small, black phone with a keypad, “Can I get that one?”

Angie grins and holds up a key tied to the lanyard around her neck, “Of course! Go the counter, Angie will bring it to you.”

Sayaka complies, drifting back to the marbled island in the centre of the store, and waits for Angie to return. 

“Okay! Now, you need to choose a package,” Angie says, “There are two minute packages that we offer, one for three thousand yen and one for five thousand. Take your time to make your decision, Angie will wait!”

Sayaka taps her fingers on the counter. After a moment, she asks, “When do the minutes expire?”

Angie responds, “After sixty days. You can refill your minutes online, though, whenever you’d like! Or just come into the store.”

“Three thousand, then,” Sayaka says, reaching for her wallet.

Angie taps a few buttons on the cash register. She listens to the rest of Angie’s spiel, nodding and answering questions, until she eventually signs a receipt and hands over thousands of yen without blinking an eye.

Eventually, Sayaka tucks the phone into her pocket and says, “Thank you. Have a good evening.”

“Byeonara!” Angie waves as she begins to exit the store, “May you be blessed by God!”

Sayaka smiles at her and retreats out into the dark city streets.

-

Her own apartment is a sight for sore eyes when she gets back to it. Sayaka really wants nothing more than to collapse on her bed and sleep till morning, but that’s not safe for her.

Wearily, she drags herself into the bathroom and inspects her teeth in the mirror. There’s a fleck here and there that could be mistaken for food, which leads to her standing in front of the sink for ten minutes as she brushes her teeth to perfection.

Her mouth feels raw.

Finally, Sayaka digs into the plastic bag that contains her purchases from the drugstore, produces the tube of burn cream, and applies it to her wrist.

Ikusaba’s offer to help her lingers on her mind as she massages it into her skin and waits for the sudden knotting in her stomach to ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! From December 15th to 23rd, I'll be away on vacation, and probably won't be posting very much. I'll do my best to keep writing during that span so that this fic can update quicker!


	3. All the Small Things

The battered secondhand coffee maker makes an ireful shriek.

Mukuro rises from her position on the sofa and approaches the bubbling and groaning machine with a small shake of her head. She pours three quarters of a cup into a cracked blue mug, then takes a guarded sip.

God, she hates coffee. If it had the same caffeine concentration, she’d consider drinking hairspray instead.

Mukuro grimaces a few times, but continues to drink the cheap sludge. She’ll need it to get through the day, without question. Junko has a public appearance tomorrow night - on a talk show that Mukuro’s never heard of - that is apparently a big deal; meaning that Junko will push her more than usual.

A weird buzzing noise fills the air. Mukuro blinks a few times, only to realize that it’s the sound of her phone ringing. She snatches it up off the counter and answers without even looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Five seven three dash one, Gionmachi Minamigawa. Higashiyama Ward. Eight PM,” is all that’s said before the caller hangs up. 

Mukuro blinks, then recognizes the voice as Maizono’s. She glances down at her phone to see the elapsed time and grins to herself. Six seconds. That girl knew how to keep her word.

She can’t risk writing down the address anywhere, so Mukuro commits it to her less than infallible memory. She’d been somewhere near the area before, so hopefully that will be enough to guide her to Maizono.

Mukuro downs the last of her coffee, then heads into her bathroom to comb out her hair and brush her teeth. She looks presentable at five minutes to seven and doesn’t see a point in lingering at her apartment. She doesn’t have to be at the studio until eight, but it might be best to arrive early, considering the following night’s event and the fact that Junko is still a bit mad at her.

Not that the latter is any surprise. It’s rare for Junko to _not_ be angry with her, which makes sense, considering Mukuro’s inability to perform her tasks impeccably. Her sister’s claim that she would fire Mukuro if she ‘wasn’t family’ pokes at the back of her head as she locks her apartment and half limps down the stairs to the car parkade.

She climbs into her car, throwing her work bag into the passenger seat a little harder than necessary. She stares at it for a moment, then shrugs and closes the door. All the fancy photography equipment is kept at the studio, so the only thing she would have to theoretically worry about is the papers crumpling. They’re in tight manilla folders too, so even that would be a stretch.

Mukuro starts the engine and pulls out of the cement lot, squinting slightly at the sunlight that shines in through her windshield. There’s traffic - as expected; it’s seven in the morning on a Friday - so she rolls to a halt one street away from where she started.

_At least the studio isn't far away,_ Mukuro thinks as she crawls through the streets. If the station were any closer, she'd take the train everywhere. Assuming that Junko would pay for a train pass, that is. Somehow, it doesn't seem very likely.

Mukuro pulls into the studio parking lot at quarter to eight. She's early enough that it’ll look good, and not enough to be deemed suspicious. At least, she hopes. She grabs her brown tote bag from the passenger seat and swings it over her shoulder, exiting her car.

It's easier to put pressure on her leg now, but the wound stings occasionally. Mukuro resists the urge to frown as she makes her way into the heated building. 

She approaches the sealed door and reaches into her pocket for her ID. Mukuro slides it through the card reader and waits for the light on the little black box to turn green.

It does, and the lock holding the door closed clicks open. Mukuro pushes her way inside, staring straight ahead as she walks down the hall to Junko’s office. Her stomach only flips once.

Her sister is already inside, reclining in a leather swivel chair behind an oak desk. She doesn't look up as Mukuro walks in, but says, “You're early.”

Mukuro feels her face twitch as she opens the filing cabinet on the far side of the room, “You got here before I did.”

Junko huffs, “But you're known for getting here a minute before the hour. What happened?”

“I left early today,” Mukuro responds, placing the - completely uniform - folders in their appropriate places.

A hand rests on her shoulder, sharp nails pressing into her skin through her shoulder, “Oh? Why haven't you made a habit of that yet?”

Mukuro grits her teeth, “I'm working on making it one. Starting today.”

Junko’s breath causes the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end, “Hm. See that you keep to your promise, then. I wouldn't want it to turn out that you were misleading me.”

“I would never,” Mukuro promises, wrenching herself out of her sister’s grip. The words taste brackish in her mouth.

Because isn't she doing just that? Aren't her omissions and secrets worse than what Junko has already accused her of?

Junko says, “Look me in the eyes, then.”

Mukuro spins on her heel, making eye contact with her sister. She has a piercing gaze, one that seems to burrow under her skin and rip her apart from the inside. Junko taps her foot, clearly expecting an answer.

“I would never,” she repeats, her eyes starting to water.

Junko puts her hands on her hips and leans forwards. There’s no clear expression on her face, which is the scariest thing of all. Her voice is low, “You would never _what?_ Finish your sentence, Muku-chan. I taught you better than this.”

Mukuro’s throat feels dry as she speaks, “I would never mislead you. You’re my sister, and I…”

Junko narrows her eyes.

“And I love you,” Mukuro quickly finishes.

Her sister crosses her arms, “Okay, no need to suck up to me, freak. We’re doing some practice interviews for the show. I want you on the mock stage in three minutes, capiche?”

“C-Capiche,” Mukuro echoes, unsure of what she’s just said. She flees from the office, trying not to look at Junko anymore. She’s wearing the high heels that have her blood on them.

The mock stage is only a few rooms over. It’s been set up to look like the real talk show studio will tomorrow night, complete with a fake audience. Mukuro silently hopes that the sea of interns in the plastic folding chairs will be paid extra for participating in this disaster.

She sits in the chair behind the crooked desk and searches the drawers for the list of vague questions she has to ask at some point.

Junko saunters into the room exactly one and a half minutes later. The audience claps furiously as she crosses the stage and only ceases once she is seated in the wicker chair to Mukuro’s right.

“Enoshima-san, it’s lovely to see you here on Yesterday Tonight,” Mukuro says, glancing down at the paper a couple times, “You’re here tonight as the genius behind… Blue Orchid’s costume design, correct?”

Junko taps her manicured nail twice on the chair, meaning _speak faster._ She tries not to flinch, but it’s difficult. She can’t remember the name of the music group that Junko will be talking with.

“You sure as hell bet I am!” Junko shouts. The crowd claps and whoops excitedly, like their praise means anything at all.

Mukuro purses her lips, “I have to know where the inspiration for your unique artistry comes from. Would you mind sharing? I’m sure all twenty million of us can keep the secret.”

A couple muffled laughs from the audience. Good.

Junko offers her a smile as real as her bleached blonde hair, “Gladly.”

-

Two hours of interview practice, three of posture and movement, and finally, lunch. Mukuro packs up her bag and starts making her way out of the building - there’s a lovely little bakery across the street that she’s been meaning to check out - when Junko grabs her arm.

“You’re not going anywhere, sis,” she says, “Do you really think that a stupid rat like yourself gets to go on break at such a crucial moment?”

Mukuro mumbles, “I thought your assistant was the stupid rat.”

Junko replies, “You want to repeat that? Hm? Because I don’t think I heard you correctly, stupid rat.”

Mukuro lowers her gaze and tries to find something interesting in the plain black tiles.

“That’s what I thought,” Junko says, “Come on, we have more work to do.”

“Yes, Junko-chan,” Mukuro says.

She follows her sister back into her office. Inside, Junko’s personal assistant and Mukuro’s fellow stupid rat is hovering next to the desk.

Junko snaps her fingers, “Tsumiki-san. Coffee, now.”

Tsumiki bows her head, “O-Of course! Just a moment!”

The girl scurries out of the room and a chill rushes down Mukuro’s spine. Tsumiki could have been her, and could _become_ her.

Junko says snottily, “We request that you recite the running order from memory, just to ensure that your foolish head has more than a few pesky flies floating around inside.”

“Yes, Junko-chan,” Mukuro gulps.

Junko taps her shoe on the floor, “Our patience is not infinite, mortal.”

Mukuro closes her eyes and thinks back to the slip of paper that she tried so hard to memorize. Her voice shakes slightly, “The musical group you designed the outfits for will open. They’re performing their new single. A-After that… the talk show starts. You come on stage first, then the lead singer joins you.”

Junko scowls, “Talk quicker next time. Show business is a fast paced world, and you’re going to be left in the fucking dust at this rate.”

“Sorry, sis,” Mukuro murmurs.

Junko grabs her chin and tilts it up, her nails digging into her skin, “What did you just say to me?”

Mukuro swallows, “I said… sorry?”

Junko tightens her grip on Mukuro’s face, “I don’t want to hear that. Every single time that you apologize to me, you manage to fuck things up for me. So stop that.”

Mukuro blinks, “Er… Okay.”

She only just manages to keep herself from saying ‘sorry’ again.

Junko scowls, “You don’t sound like you understand me. Say it properly, moronic bitch.”

“I understand, Junko-chan,” Mukuro says, trying not to flinch at the insult, “It won’t happen again.”

Junko releases her face, “I hope that’s the case.”

The office door flies open at that moment. Tsumiki is back with a cup of coffee in hand, which she presents to Junko with a smile, “Hot and b-bitter, prepared… prepared exactly as you like it, Enoshima-san!”

Junko examines the paper cup and takes a sip, “Suitable. Not good enough for praise, not bad enough for despair.”

Tsumiki lowers her head, “T-They were out of the blend that you really like.”

“Pathetic,” Junko responds, “But it passes. Where is my sister’s coffee?”

Tsumiki freezes, “H-Huh? I thought… I thought Ikusaba-san didn’t l-like coffee? A-And, you didn’t specify when you ordered m-me to-”

Junko snarls, “ _Obviously_ I meant for you to bring us both coffee! My sister is just as important as I am, and you work for her as much as you work for me. Now, bring her something, or you won’t work for anything!”

“Y-Yes, Enoshima-san!” Tsumiki squeaks, running out of the room before Junko can yell again, or worse, strike her.

Mukuro weakly calls out, “It’s okay! I… don’t need… She’s gone.”

Junko tuts, “Don’t take it easy on her. She needs to learn how to follow orders properly.”

“But she’s right. I don’t like coffee,” Mukuro says, “Why make her go to the extra effort?”

Junko narrows her eyes, “Are you questioning my authority?”

Mukuro flinches, “N-No, Junko-chan.”

Her sister relaxes, “That’s good to hear. Now, where were we?”

“I was reciting tomorrow night’s running order for you,” Mukuro says quietly.

Junko waves her hand, “Was I satisfied? Also, speak up.”

Mukuro shakes her head, “You didn’t like how I said it.”

“That’s what I thought,” Junko says, “Start from the beginning, then. Use my feedback.”

“Yes, Junko-chan.”

They spend the next twenty minutes repeating this sequence until Junko finally seems pleased with her. Halfway through, Tsumiki returns with a coffee for Mukuro. It’s disgustingly sweet and makes her want to vomit, but she drinks the entire cup to avoid upsetting both Junko and her underpaid assistant.

Finally, Junko says, “Okay, you’re free to go. Have fun with your lunch break, I’ll see you in a bit for some fresh shots.”

“Thank you, Junko-chan,” Mukuro says, hurrying out of the office before her sister can change her mind.

As it turns out, there’s only ten minutes left before the mandated lunch break ends, so instead of going to the bakery across the way, Mukuro settles for a packet of dried apple slices from the vending machine in the hallway. She doesn’t have enough time to eat any of the more substantial foods being sold in the machine, or even the money for some.

Three hours of shots - wherein Mukuro’s hands don’t shake once, under the threat of death - go by, then another of snap interview practice, before Junko calls it a day and dismisses everyone. Mukuro hightails it out of the studio at that, not daring to linger even a moment too long, in case she gets called back in. 

It’s an hour to the Higashiyama Ward. Maizono will no doubt be waiting for her. Mukuro’s heartbeat speeds up at the very thought of her.

-

Mukuro pulls into the parking lot of the store exactly three minutes after eight in the evening. She quickly stops her car and leaps out of it, looking around.

Maizono is leaning against a streetlamp a couple feet away. At the sight of Mukuro, she jogs over and greets her with a smile, “Hey, you made it. How’s your leg?”

Mukuro shrugs and glances down for a moment, “I guess it’s been worse. It barely hurts anymore, though.”

“I’m glad,” Maizono responds, “Thank you so much for being here… did your sister give you any trouble?”

Mukuro shakes her head, “Not yet. But just to be safe, don’t call me again. I don’t want to try and explain you and risk… you know.”

Maizono’s eyes flicker downwards for a brief moment, “I get it. Still, I appreciate you risking everything to meet me.”

“It wasn’t a huge ‘risk’ or anything,” Mukuro says, “Let’s talk about something else, though. I didn’t drive over an hour just to complain about my sister.”

Maizono smiles apologetically, “Sorry. Uh, here, follow me for a second, okay?”

Mukuro blinks, “Sure?” She follows Maizono across the lot to a small patch of grass. Lying on its side is a small container of ice cream.

“Figured I should pay you back for that first night,” Maizono says, “Since I showed up out of nowhere and started bothering you.”

Mukuro crouches on the grass, “I’m glad that you bothered me. Otherwise I’d be all alone right now.”

Maizono kneels down across from her, “Isn’t it better to be alone, sometimes?”

“Maybe. But I like being around someone I’m not scared of,” Mukuro admits, cracking open the container with her torn nails. The lid comes off with a swift ‘pop’ and reveals a light pink substance. Mukuro squints, “Is this strawberry?”

Maizono nods, “Yeah. I couldn’t find the kind you brought before, and… I _think_ I like strawberries. Y-You’re not allergic, are you?”

Mukuro shakes her head, “No, I just wasn’t sure what kind it was. Thank you.” She snaps the wooden spoon inside in half and hands it to Maizono, who hesitates.

“My manager got mad last time,” she admits quietly.

Mukuro winces, “I’m sorry. Is there any way for you to hide what you eat?”

She shrugs, “He video calls me and… inspects my teeth. It’s very difficult, but I could… try?”

Mukuro says, “You don’t have to try for my sake, it’s fine. You’re more important than this.”

Maizono stares at her for a moment, then scoops up some of the ice cream and shoves it in her mouth. Mukuro stares blankly for a moment before the blue haired girl says, “Live while we’re still alive.”

“I suppose,” Mukuro says, taking a bite herself. It melts on her tongue, sweet and tart at the same time. It’s almost beautiful, and Mukuro has to stop herself from getting lost in the taste, “This… is incredible. Where the hell did you find this?”

Maizono replies, “It’s the best that not a lot of Blue Orchid’s spare yen can buy.”

Mukuro freezes, “Did. Did you say… Blue Orchid?”

“Oh no,” Maizono whispers, covering her mouth with her hands, “You weren’t supposed to know that.”

Mukuro says slowly, “That’s… that’s the musical group my sister is being interviewed with tomorrow night.”

Half of the wooden spoon falls from Maizono’s hand.

“Your sister is _Junko Enoshima?!”_

Mukuro falls silent, then nods. Her voice is almost inaudible when she speaks again, “I’m ten minutes older than her.”

Maizono runs her fingers through her hair, “I’ve… I’ve _met_ her.”

Mukuro breathes deeply, “I… You have?”

Maizono says, “A few times, yes. She always seemed… _eccentric,_ but I had no idea that she was… This is-“

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Mukuro cuts in, “If anything, I should be freaking out, not you.”

“Sorry,” Maizono says, “But, uh, since it’s out there, I guess I should reintroduce myself.”

Mukuro shrugs, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

She says, “No, it’ll feel good. My name is Sayaka Maizono... I'm the centre of the idol group Blue Orchid.”

Mukuro opens and closes her mouth a few times, then says, “Well, I suppose I can’t forget the name of your group now. Er, I’m Mukuro Ikusaba. Might as well be on an even playing field.”

“That’s an interesting name,” Maizono says gently.

Mukuro snorts, “You don’t have to put it gently. I changed it when I was thirteen because I was going to be a soldier and wanted to sound cool. It didn’t work.”

Maizono giggles, “It’s cute! And you’re plenty cool anyways.”

Mukuro rubs her neck, “Thanks, Maizono-san.”

“Sayaka,” she says, “I mean, why stand on formalities at this point?”

Mukuro flushes, “I… Sure, I can… Sayaka-san. Ah, you can call me Mukuro? If you want, I mean.”

Maizono - _Sayaka_ \- beams, “I’d love to.”

Mukuro bites her lip and looks around for a distraction, before settling on the slowly melting ice cream and shoving some in her mouth. As she does so, she catches a glimpse of her watch.

“Oh, it’s getting late, she murmurs, “Junko-chan will be wondering where I am, and it’s a long drive back.”

Sayaka says, “Sorry for making you come all the way out here, then. I missed you. Is that weird?”

Mukuro shakes her head, “Not at all. And I wanted to see you again too. I would have driven further if I had to.”

Sayaka smiles, “Thank you. Get home safe!”

“I’ll try,” Mukuro says, “See you tomorrow night.”

Sayaka blinks, “I- What?”

Mukuro responds, “At the show. Junko-chan wants me there as her assistant, and you’re going to be there, so…”

“Oh!” Sayaka’s eyes light up, “In that case, I can’t wait. Do you, ah, mind taking the ice cream with you?”

Mukuro nods, “Sure. Good night, Sayaka. Take care of yourself.”

Sayaka echoes, “I’ll try.”

Mukuro picks up the ice cream container and gets to her feet. She walks across the lot with Sayaka, then waves to her as she climbs inside and prepares to pull out of the parking lot.

She’s a very odd girl, in Mukuro’s opinion, but there’s something about her that she can’t get out of her head.

-

At quarter past eleven, Mukuro unlocks the door to her apartment. For a solid three seconds, she stands just inside the door frame, her limbs hanging limp from exhaustion.

“Took you long enough.”

Mukuro jumps, her eyes locking onto the source instantly. The sight of Junko sitting on her couch with a bored expression does nothing to lessen the sudden jolt of anxiety, and in fact, amplifies it.

Junko tilts her head, “Where the hell have you been? It’s almost midnight!”

Mukuro blinks a few times, “How did you get in here?”

“Stupid Mukuro,” Junko says, dangling a spare key from her pinky finger, “Anyways, you didn’t answer my question. You certainly left work in a hurry.”

Mukuro shuffles in place, “I… I wanted to take a drive out of the city. And then I got dinner.”

Junko huffs, “And ice cream too. You’re going to get yourself fat, sis.”

Mukuro hunches her shoulders, “I…”

“Hey, I’m not mad at you,” Junko says, “Only stating the facts. Come over here, okay?”

Mukuro pulls off her boots quickly and approaches her sister, trying to not shake. Junko doesn’t _look_ angry, but she flips back and forth like a lightswitch.

Junko says, “Can I see your phone?”

It’s a request, not a question. Mukuro’s hand goes for her pocket and she hands the black box to Junko, who types in the password without even thinking. She digs her bit nails into her pants and doesn’t say a word. If she’s lucky, Junko won’t see anything she considers suspicious.

“Incoming phone call at six thirty-four AM?” Junko’s faze flits upwards to look at Mukuro, “Now who on earth would phone _you_ of all people, especially that early?”

Mukuro doesn’t miss a beat, “Oh, that? It was a wrong number. Whoever phoned didn’t even stay connected for ten seconds.”

Junko hums and continues to scroll through her phone for another minute or two, before saying, “Okay, you’re good. Glad to see that you’ve been behaving.”

“I always do,” Mukuro responds, pocketing her phone.

Junko laughs, “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

Mukuro shivers slightly, “Uh, Junko-chan? Why are you here?”

“Eh?” Junko responds, “Oh, right. I wanted to remind you that we’re meeting extra early tomorrow for dress rehearsal. I was hoping to tell you that three or four hours ago, but here we fucking are.”

Mukuro gulps, “I’ll get some sleep.”

Junko stands up and starts to strut out, “See to that, then.”

“Ah, Junko-chan!” Mukuro calls out, “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You have toilet paper in your fridge, by the way,” Junko says, leaving the room.

Mukuro slumps to the floor. Just once, she wants to hear her sister respond.

But maybe that’s just another pipe dream.


	4. Pretty Little Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two updates in a row? This will never happen again. I'm home from Mexico now, though!
> 
> ALSO I feel obligated to warn that there is a contextual spoiler for NDRV3 in this chapter! You probably won't notice it if you haven't played the game, but... figured it's best to mention!

The prepaid phone feels heavy in her pocket.

Sayaka leans against the tinted window of the limousine, glancing at the distorted reflection of her nose every so often. It’s not common for her to feel sick before a show, even with Kita’s omnipresence in her life.

It’s her own fault, of course. The pent up anxiety is close to bursting out of her chest.

“Are you feeling okay, Saya-chan?”

She turns her head to see Ayaka staring at her with concern in her amber eyes, “You look like hell. Did something happen last night?”

Sayaka shakes her head and forces a smile, “I’m fine, Aka-chan. I think I’m just nervous about the performance tonight. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Ayaka frowns, “Are you sure? It’s almost like you’re sick. I don’t want to push you or anything, but… I’ve been really worried about you lately. Has Kita-san-”

“No!” Sayaka interjects quickly, “Nothing like that, I swear. I’m just unsure if we’re ready for this performance, since we haven’t had much time to practice, and my stomach’s in knots because of it. It’s not something to bother with. I’ll get over it!”

Ayaka raises an eyebrow doubtfully.

Sayaka brushes her hair behind her ear with a quick sweep, her sleeve falling slightly, “I mean it, Aka-chan.”

“Your wrist,” Ayaka says, staring at the exposed skin. She reaches out and takes Sayaka’s left arm, pulling up the sleeve to reveal the rest of the mostly healed burn scar, “This isn’t something I can ignore. What the hell is going on with you?”

Sayaka responds, “I brushed the wall of my oven when I was taking my dinner out the other night. I’m fine, and the burn was worse before. It was my own clumsiness.”

The cover story doesn’t feel bitter in her mouth anymore.

Ayaka covers the burn again and crosses her arms over her chest, “I want to believe you, I really do.”

“Then believe me,” Sayaka says, narrowing her eyes.

Ayaka winces at her harsh tone, then grumbles, “Okay, sorry for looking out for my oldest friend. I’ll leave you alone.”

Sayaka folds her hands and turns back to the window, staring out at the muted city skyline once more. It’s not Ayaka’s fault at all - and truly, she appreciates the concern for her well being - but she can’t risk her friend discovering any of her secrets, not when she scarcely trusts herself to keep it all under wraps. The one person she _does_ trust is far, far away right now.

She’ll see Mukuro at the show tonight. Sayaka clings to this knowledge in silence, holding it close to her heart. This girl, this girl she hardly knows means more to her than anyone ever has. Sure, Ayaka is her best friend from childhood, and she owes so much to Satomi, Kasumi, and Hanako, but there is some feeling that Mukuro sparks within her that shocks Sayaka to her very core. It’s almost frightening when she really considers it. How has this girl that she’s known for three - _three!_ \- days managed to consume her thoughts and feelings like this?

It’s almost enough to call their encounter fate, but Sayaka isn’t sure how she feels about that being the case. A deterministic world unsettles her, but free will is just as nerve-wracking. Sayaka shakes her head slightly and squints at the tiny black dots on her nose again. Philosophy was never her strong suit.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spies Ayaka sneaking a glance or two her way. A few times, Sayaka wants to turn around and apologize for being so tough with her, but the devil on her shoulder forces her to stay the course.

She worked hard to make this falsehood believable, and now she has to live with it.

-

The car pulls into the underground parking garage at a minute past seven. The five of them quickly exit - saying a ‘thank you’ to their driver - and head for the main building. It’s a near silent ride up in the elevator - Satomi attempts to make idle conversation, but doesn’t get any replies - as if a solemn vow has been placed over the metal box.

When the door opens, Sayaka marches out first, not allowing herself to glance back at the others. It’s the final dress rehearsal before their live show tonight, and there’s no telling how hard Kita will run them. When he first took charge of Blue Orchid, Sayaka admired his perfectionism and dedication to the job. Now, it was just another trait that she had grown to despise.

In the change room, Sayaka slips into one of the curtained off stalls with her outfit as fast as she can. Normally, she doesn’t bother with anything like this, but at the present moment, she has a lot to hide. As she vanishes, she can feel Ayaka’s gaze boring into the back of her head.

Sayaka fishes into her jacket pocket for the prepaid phone. The night before, she had used a paring knife to open up part of her regular shoes just wide enough to hide a small object. She slides the phone into the slit without much difficulty, hopefully sealing it from Kita’s prying eyes. There’s no telling what he might do, should he discover it.

After that, Sayaka changes into the ensemble that’s been specially put together for this live. The dress is gorgeous - soft, silky blue fabric with creamy white undertones, and a pair of white shoes with straps that go up to her thighs - as expected from their designer. Some of her more recent creations had been somewhat lacklustre, so it’s nice to see something as pretty as this. Sayaka resolves to thank the girl she next time she sees her.

The only problem with the outfit is that it doesn’t quite cover the burn scar. The sleeves are irregularly cut, hiding a fair amount, but some of the ugly lumps are still visible. Sayaka grimaces slightly, but there’s nothing she can do about it. Makeup will have to be her escape.

She throws the curtain aside and spins out of the small stall, twirling once to show off the flow of the skirt.

“Oooh! You look lovely, Sayaka-chan!” Satomi exclaims, bringing her hands up to the side of her face in delight. Hanako nods excitedly in agreement, and even Kasumi lets out a grunt of approval.

Sayaka waves her hand awkwardly, “Thanks. You all look incredible too.”

It’s true- the colours blend together perfectly, making her bandmates look radiant.

Ayaka cuts in, “I’m really glad to hear that, as I’m sure the rest of you are, but Shirogane-san needs you to head to hair and makeup right this second, Saya-chan.”

Hanako tilts her head, “S-Shirogane-san? Why is she… is she h-here today?”

“Apparently Gokuhara-kun got sick,” Ayaka explains, “So even though she normally just does sewing and costume design, Kita-san is bringing her on board today so that we don’t lose time. ...C’mon, Saya-chan, don’t just stand there.”

Sayaka tenses, “Sorry. I’ll head over there now.”

Not wanting to disappoint, Sayaka quickly exits the room. She heads down the narrow, thinly carpeted corridor to the small mirrored hole-in-the-wall station that smells mostly of hairspray. Standing next to the swivel chair inside is Shirogane, Blue Orchid’s lead designer.

“Good morning, Shirogane-san,” Sayaka says, sitting down in the chair, “The outfits you designed are breathtaking.”

Shirogane nervously twirls her hair, “I appreciate your approval, but I merely sewed them. Enoshima-san, the woman we’re meeting with tonight, is the one who conceptualized and formed their beauty.”

Sayaka’s stomach drops upon hearing her name, “O-Oh. Sorry.”

Funny, how one evening can completely change your entire perception of someone.

“No, don’t apologize!” Shirogane exclaims, “I’m honoured that you believe my skills are anywhere near her’s. She’s my hero, actually! One day, I want to be just as talented as her.”

Sayaka feels her throat grow tight, but she forces the words out anyways, “I think that you’re already just as good as her… Perhaps better.”

Shirogane blushes, “Ah! Thank you, that means more than you know. A-Are you ready for your war paint?”

Sayaka chuckles, and turns the face the mirror, “Whenever you are.”

Prior to applying makeup, Shirogane ties her hair back in a high ponytail, a standard for most shows. It’s no different tonight, even if they’re only performing Blue Orchid’s new single, instead of an entire set. Once her hair is tightly secured - and tugging on her skin just a little bit - Shirogane opens the thick makeup case that sits on the marbled counter by the mirror.

She’s a woman with a steady hand, so the process doesn’t take long. The colours are slightly more intense than the ones produced by Gokuhara’s nimble strokes, but Sayaka prefers this slightly. It almost makes her look terrifying instead of endearing.

“It looks like we’re all finished- Maizono-san?” Shirogane cuts herself off, worry flooding her tone upon stating her name, “There’s a mark on your wrist.”

Sayaka exhales slowly and lifts her sleeve to expose the scars, “I burned myself on my oven, like a klutz. It’s healed really well, but I suppose it doesn’t look good for my stage presence, huh?”

Shirogane nods, “You’re exactly right. The media would focus on this instead of Enoshima-san’s impeccable designs, or your sure to be captivating performance. There will be rumours… tabloid reporters… all sorts of lowlife scum will be poking their noses into your life.”

Sayaka mutters, “Like they don’t do that already.”

Shirogane sighs, “Yes… but you know what I meant.”

“I do,” Sayaka avers, leaning back in her seat, “I just don’t like it very much, is all.”

Shirogane laughs bitterly, “Do any of us? Give me a few moments… I’ll find some way to cover up the scars, okay?”

Sayaka nods her head and stares at the woman in the mirror whom she should believe is her.

“Okay.”

-

_“Sing to me your lullaby, tell me you still love me, what’s one more lie?”_

Sayaka twirls and then bows as the song finishes, the rest of her group completing their pirouettes a moment after. They’ve performed thirteen or so times, with - somehow - minimal mistakes. It’s getting close to the end of the practice time, but she can’t make herself relax, not when the evening show still looms just above her head.

From his seat in the audience, Kita claps slowly, “Well done, girls. I think you’ve finally gotten it down perfect. My only wish is that that result had occurred earlier today.”

Sayaka keeps her head bowed low as the other four follow her lead. She doesn’t dare make eye contact with him right now, not when she’s finally satisfied with herself. Not that the satisfaction is a lot - it’ll become doubt and self-hatred in a matter of hours - but she doesn’t want him to take it away, the same as how he ripped away her innocence with ten grimy fingers.

Kia clears his throat, “Okay, you five, stand up. Change back into your street clothes and wash up- we’ll do you up all pretty again once we reach the production stage.”

Sayaka goes to confirm her understanding in unison with the others, but the words die in her throat as Kita continues.

“And before anything else… Sayaka, can you come to my office for a small discussion? It won’t take long.”

Suddenly, every bad thing she’s ever done washes over her like a tidal wave, even things that Kita would never ever care about. Her gaze flickers towards Ayaka out of reflex, but she’s facing away. Whether that’s for better or for worse, Sayaka has no idea.

“Y-Yes, Kita-san,” she squeaks, realizing that she hasn’t acknowledged his request yet.

Kasumi snorts, “Wonder how many solo deals Sayaka’s being offered today? Seven? Eight? Come on, why don’t we all take turns guessing!”

The tone of her voice is joking, but the malice in her eyes is cold and serious.

Ayaka cuffs her over the head and scolds, “Don’t gibe at her like that. Even if she _was_ being offered something like that, Saya-chan would never leave us behind. She’s our _friend.”_

“She’s _your_ friend,” Kasumi mutters under her breath.

Hanako reaches towards her, as if to squeeze her hand in reassurance, but Sayaka starts walking off stage and heading for Kita’s office so she can be out of earshot. No point in standing around and listening to Kasumi insult her.

He’s fast, or just knows a better shortcut than her, because when Sayaka pushes the heavy cedar door to Kita’s office open, the man himself is already sitting behind his mahogany desk at the back of the room. She moves to bow to him, but he beckons her forward with his hand.

Sayaka stands exactly half a foot in front of his desk, not a tad closer. Keeping a respectful distance - not that he ever reciprocated in kind - is one of Kita’s rules, the rules that he has imposed since the very first day he entered their lives, back when they were seventeen and stupid.

Kita takes her in for a long moment, then sighs mournfully, “What a sad state of affairs you are.”

She doesn’t dare look him in the eyes - in case all her guilt spills out with a single flicker - and instead focuses on the other details. The wrinkles in his suit. The cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. The mole on his right wrist. Without looking up, she says, “I’m not entirely sure what you’re referring to, Kita-san.”

Kita slams his fist down on his desk, an almighty thunder echoing throughout the room, “Don’t play dumb! You were completely out of sync and off key during practice! _Hanako_ sounded better than you, and we both know that she’s the weakest vocalist of you five. What gives?!”

Sayaka lowers her head, “I don’t know. But I apologize for my misconduct, and I promise to remedy-“

“Don’t give me that excuse,” Kita says, opening one of his desk drawers, “This show tonight was a gamble, and I’ve gone all in. There is no way in hell that I’m paying the price if you mess up. So here’s some motivation for you.”

Sayaka’s gaze flickers to his hand. It’s holding a small red box, one that she instantly recognizes. She takes a step back almost on instinct.

Kita opens the matchbox and produces a single stick. He strikes it on the desk and holds it up, the flame glowing in the semi-darkness. He says, “You see this? I won’t do anything now, not so close to a public appearance, of course… But know that this is what awaits you should you fail me. Are we clear?”

Sayaka nods furiously, unable to tear herself away from the small speck of fire.

Kita grins, “Good. You’re free to go now.”

He lights the cigarette in his mouth and puts out the residual flame with his lips. Sayaka flees before he can change his mind, or do something worse.

Ayaka is waiting for her in the hallway, “Hey. Is everything okay?”

Sayaka nods, “Y-Yeah. He was just giving me some… coaching regarding my performance today.”

“You’re shaking,” Ayaka responds softly, taking Sayaka’s hand in her own, “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

She shakes her head, “He didn’t lay a finger on me.”

Ayaka bites her lip, “I… Okay. I get it, you don’t want my help.”

Sayaka droops, “Aka-chan, I’m not trying to come off as dismissive, really. I’m sorry that I was so rude to you on the way here. I didn’t sleep well.”

That much is true.

Ayaka relents, “Mmm… Alright. I’m sorry for being invasive. I just want you to be happy, Saya-chan. You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” Sayaka says, “Nobody means more to me than you do.”

Her transition into a lie is seamless, and only stings a little bit.

Ayaka takes her hand, “I’m glad to hear that. Let’s go get you changed… and then we can meet the others in the car.”

“You got it,” Sayaka says, the thought of potentially running into Mukuro again claiming her heart once more.


	5. The Only Thing That Matters

The chatter inside the venue is grating to the ear, and the bright lights that adorn all sides of the building are enough to give a headache at best, and cause blindness at worst.

Mukuro scowls as she follows Tsumiki through a series of hallways and back rooms. The two of them are supposed to report to Junko in her dressing room exactly three minutes ago, thanks to Tsumiki’s apparent inability to read a map, or follow instructions. She refuses to relinquish the battered piece of paper either, leading to mutual frustration.

Finally, Mukuro spots the door that has the kanji for Junko’s name printed on the door. She tugs Tsumiki - whose nose is still buried in the map - towards it and throws it open.

The second they step foot inside, Junko asks, “Why are you late?”

Tsumiki stiffens, “A-Ah…”

“Traffic was really bad,” Mukuro cuts in, hoping to save them from a scalping, “We came here as fast as we possibly could.”

Junko doesn’t even turn to look at them, and continues examining her face in the mirror, “Hmph. I thought you were making it your resolve to be early from now on, Muku-chan?”

Mukuro grits her teeth, “I am. I was just stupid, and didn’t think to account for traffic. Kizugawa’s over an hour from home.”

Junko sighs dramatically, “Fine, you’re forgiven. But don’t you dare let it happen again, do you hear me?”

Mukuro bows her head while Tsumiki flinches. With any luck, this will be the only wrinkle that they experience tonight. Not that Mukuro’s ever been known for her luck.

“By the by, sis,” Junko says, “One of my outfits got torn by the idiot who was handling them. Would you be a dear and patch it up like one of your battlefield wounds, hm?”

Mukuro replies, “Of course. Which outfit is it?”

Junko points behind her to a mannequin that is wearing a long white blouse. At least, she thinks it’s a blouse. She can’t really tell, but Junko will yell at her if she asks. Mukuro sighs softly and crosses the room, kneeling down next to the mannequin. There’s a little black sewing kit on the floor beside it.

Tsumiki squeaks, “C-Can I help… help with anything?”

Junko says, “Coffee, now. And yes, I do mean get it for both of us. Otherwise, there’ll be consequences.”

Tsumiki shoots a glance at Mukuro, who shakes her head. She doesn’t know how well the nonverbal request will communicate, but it’s all she can hope so. Shitty coffee is probably the last thing she needs right now.

Mukuro gets to work on repairing the blouse. The tear is quite large, but it’s close to the hem, so it won’t be noticeable after she fixes it. Small victories, she supposes.

As she makes the stitches, various strangers come in and out of the room. Mukuro ignores them all, but Junko gives most of them orders, so it’s likely an influx of interns who have no idea what they’re getting into. She’s still working her way through when Tsumiki returns, a steaming cup in each hand.

“Here you are, Enoshima-san,” Tsumiki says, handing her one of the cups, “Made specially for you.”

Junko takes a quick swig, “Gross. Don’t give me that look, it’s exactly what I expected. Give Muku-chan her’s.”

Tsumiki nods and presses the other hot cup into Mukuro’s open hands, winking quickly as she does so, “For you, Ikusaba-san.”

Mukuro sips it carefully. It’s not coffee, to her surprise, rather, it’s hot chocolate. The consistency is watery, and it tastes vaguely of dirt, but it’s probably better than whatever the hell Junko’s drinking. She smiles weakly, and says, “Thank you.”

Junko makes a noise of disapproval from her seat. Mukuro quickly returns to her sewing job. Each movement has been perfect thus far, and she doesn’t want to move quicker and risk Junko’s wrath. She’s made her sister angry enough this week.

The door opens again. Mukuro doesn’t pay any attention to their new guest, until she speaks, and nearly drops her needle.

_Sayaka._

“Good evening, Enoshima-san!” Sayaka greets with too much cheer, “How are you doing this evening?”

“Terrible,” Junko replies, “The coffee sucks and my garment handler is a moron.”

Sayaka says, “I’m… sorry to hear that. I don’t think I can be any help, though.”

Junko crosses the room and leans against the wall by the door, pushing Tsumiki out of her way, “I didn’t fucking expect you to. Do you need something?”

“Yes,” Sayaka says, “Er, my manager wants you to inspect the final costumes you designed in person, and meet the person who sewed them. Is now a bad time?”

Junko waves her hand, “It’s not an issue, I’ll be down in a second.”

“Great,” Sayaka says. Then, she points towards Mukuro and asks, “Hey… who’s that girl back there?”

Mukuro goes stiff and focuses her energy on the stitches. If she dares even _glimpse_ this conversation, Junko will mount her head on the wall over her fireplace.

Junko laughs, “Oh, ignore my useless, disappointment of a sister. She’s just sewing something, no big whoop. You want me to look at these designs or what?”

Sayaka says, “Sorry! Follow me, please.”

Mukuro pokes the needle through the fabric, her heart thumping. Her hands shake ever so slightly, and no amount of slowed movements will ease the tremors. She can’t bear to tear her eyes away from the needlework, knowing the danger of doing so, but it makes her throat tighten. The thought of Sayaka being so close both excites and terrifies her.

The door slams shut. Mukuro jumps slightly, then inhales sharply. A single drop of blood lies on her index finger, and a flake of skin decorates the needle. She puts her finger in her mouth to hopefully stop the blood flow, and uses her free hand to clean the needle with.

From the far side of the room, Tsumiki calls out, “A-Are you… you okay, Ikusaba-san?”

Mukuro mutters around her finger, “I pricked myself. I’ll be fine, it’s not a deep cut.”

Tsumiki scurries over to her and kneels down beside her. She reaches into a pouch on her jacket and says, “Here, l-let me help you.”

Reluctantly, Mukuro extends her hand to Tsumiki. The brunette produces a small adhesive bandage and secures it tightly around her finger, then says, “T-There. That should be… should be enough to make it heal.”

Mukuro stares at her for a long moment. There’s a peculiar, earnest honestly reflected in her dark eyes, an innocence that Mukuro has never been able to understand. She says, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Tsumiki lights up at the praise, “Ah! You’re v-very welcome! I guess those o-online medical courses were helpful.”

It’s the first time that she’s ever seen the other girl genuinely smile, Mukuro thinks.

They return to their own work quickly - Mukuro finishes with the dress, while Tsumiki reads and signs documents - and don’t speak to each other again until the door is suddenly thrown open. A sour looking Junko walks in and stomps over to the mirror.

“Is everything okay, sis?” Mukuro asks, getting to her feet.

Junko mutters, “It’s absolutely unbelievable. I’m losing my goddamn mind!”

Tsumiki chokes out, “W-What’s unbelievable?”

Junko throws a can of hairspray at the wall, “I impart my fucking _genius_ on this designer, and the results look like shit! It’s too late to fix it all now too.”

Mukuro bows her head, “I’m sorry that these… idiots couldn’t handle your creations.”

“She was practically slobbering over me the whole time too,” Junko complains, “I thought she might even ask for a fucking autograph. Slut can’t even make proper cross stitches!”

A scowl crosses Tsumiki’s face as she scrunches up her nose, “How d-dare she treat you like this? Especially… especially after disgracing your good name!”

Junko leans back in her seat, “I can’t _believe_ I offered my mind out to these fucking useless pieces of shit. Never again!”

“Never again!” Tsumiki echoes.

Mukuro breaks in, “Uh, Junko-chan? I finished fixing the blouse-“

Junko glares at her, “Why didn’t you say so before?! God, you’re so fucking hopeless.”

Mukuro looks at her feet, “S-Sorry.”

“What have I told you about your constant apologizing?” Junko snaps, “I’ll forgive you this one time, but only because we’re on a tight schedule.”

“I understand,” Mukuro whispers.

Junko rolls her eyes and stands up. She inspects Mukuro’s work with a pair of eagle eyes, then finally says, “Well, it doesn’t look terrible. I suppose that’s all I can expect from someone like you, though.”

Mukuro says, “I… see. I’ll take your feedback into consideration.”

Junko scowls, “Shut up.”

Mukuro nods and backs away, not wanting to be in immediate range of Hurricane Junko, should she spin out of control.

Junko snaps her fingers and points at Tsumiki, “You. Two coffees, now. Mine’s gotten cold.”

Tsumiki jumps and salutes awkwardly, “Y-Yes, Enoshima-san!”

“And,” Junko says, “bring my sister _actual_ coffee this time. Otherwise there’s no way in hell she’ll stay awake all night.”

Tsumiki’s eyes go wide, “A-Ah… But she doesn’t…”

Junko marches up to her, a dark flash in her eyes, “Do you need your hearing checked? I told you to bring us both coffee, you disgusting whore.”

Tsumiki flinches, “I just w-wanted to help-“

“ _Fucking LISTEN TO ME!”_ Junko screams. Mukuro doesn’t have time to hide her eyes before Junko slaps Tsumiki across the face.

“F-F-Forgive me!” Tsumiki shrieks, then dashes out of the room.

Junko sighs and strolls back to her chair next to the mirror, “Can’t find good help these days.”

Mukuro hunches her shoulders and keeps her head down. No point risking engaging with Junko, and receiving wrath as a response.

When Tsumiki returns, she doesn’t say a word as she passes out the steaming cups. Mukuro tries to offer a comforting glance, but the girl refuses to meet her eyes, so she merely chugs back the black slime, and only grimaces once.

-

Junko disappears ten minutes before curtain call - apparently checking over some last minute items of note - and Tsumiki had vanished after delivering the second round of coffee, which leaves Mukuro all alone in the dressing room.

She sits on the floor, facing a small screen on the wall that showcases the stage. There’s nobody on it now, sans a few members of the studio audience, but she keeps fixated on it. Might as well. There’s nothing else to do in the room besides scratch the olive green paint off the walls, or watch the linoleum curl.

All of a sudden, the screen darkens. Then, one lone spotlight comes up on centre stage, illuminating the woman who stands underneath it. Mukuro feels her lips part at the sight of Sayaka.

She looks completely different. The times that they met, she had been wearing ratty sweatpants and greasy pullovers. But now, with no hair out of place, and an august dress that seems to have emerged from a dream, Sayaka appears to almost be a doll. It’s unsettling.

Above Mukuro’s head, a set of worn speakers crackle to life. Slow music begins to waft through the room, joined by Sayaka’s soft, melodious voice.

_“Say you’ll remember me, when all is said and done.”_

Mukuro feels a shiver run down her spine. She’s incredible.

Another spotlight comes up, shining down on a girl to Sayaka’s right.

_“Say you’ll keep me on your mind, even when you don’t want to try.”_

Light falls on the girl who stands on Sayaka’s other side.

_“Say that what we had was good, even if it’s a lie.”_

In an instant, the entire stage comes to life. The five girls begin to dance, showcasing perfectly coordinated movements, and then start to sing in unison. Mukuro’s eyes stay glued to the group, completely captivated. Idol culture has never been of interest to her, but seeing Blue Orchid - even on a tiny backstage screen - perform truly strikes a chord within her.

She hardly even blinks until the show finishes, and the crowd bursts into an earth shattering applause. Mukuro claps too, unable to resist. There’s no doubt in her mind that they deserve it.

As the group filters off stage, the door to the dressing room opens. Junko comes inside and Mukuro instantly feels her shoulders tense.

“Where the hell did Tsumiki-san get to?” she asks, glancing around the room.

Mukuro shrugs, “I don’t know. She left right after you did.”

Junko frowns, “What a waste of a human being. She’s even worse than you are. Most of the time, anyways. She hasn’t managed to fuck up any of my shots just yet.”

Mukuro bites her lip. Junko isn’t letting that mistake go anytime soon, it seems.

There’s a polite rap on the door. Junko waves her hand, “Grab that, will you? It’s probably that stupid rat.”

Mukuro nods and makes her way to the door, opening it slowly. She’s prepared to step aside and let Tsumiki in, but falls completely still when she comes face to face with Sayaka.

The blue haired girl seems just as stunned, but only for a moment, as she leans inside and calls out, “Enoshima-san? Are you there?”

Junko turns around and motions for Mukuro to let her in. As she complies, her sister says, “Yeah. What do you need? Did your idiot fucking designer mess something up while you were on stage, or something like that? Because I swear-“

Sayaka waves her hands, “No, nothing like that! I… I just discovered a rip in my skirt, and I was wondering if I could borrow your sister for a minute to fix it.”

Junko raises an eyebrow, “You want _her?_ Why?”

“Oh, because she was sewing before,” Sayaka quickly amends, “I thought that it wouldn’t be an issue to use her for something like this, but if it’s trouble-“

Junko sighs, “Take her. Get her out of my sight if you want her help that bad.”

Mukuro’s breathing grows heavier.

Sayaka beams, “Thank you! I won’t keep her for long.”

“Whatever,” Junko says, “Before you go, have you seen my assistant at all? She left earlier without saying anything.”

Sayaka shakes her head, “No sign of her, sorry!”

Mukuro flinches on instinct. Luckily, Junko doesn’t react, so Mukuro snatches her sewing kit and exits the dressing room. She follows Sayaka down the hall to another door, one that must have the kanji for _her_ name written on it. Mukuro isn’t entirely sure, but doesn’t bother to think about it as she heads inside after her.

Sayaka's dressing room is similar to Junko's in layout, but there's something warmer about it. Perhaps, it has to do with the absence of a devil.

She turns to Mukuro after closing the door and wrings her hands, "I didn't want to make the rip too big, but I needed a reason for you to-"

"It's okay, I can fix it easily," Mukuro responds, "Can you show me?"

Sayaka guides her to a sea blue dress that is sitting on a chair, slightly crumpled. Near the hem of the skirt is a small tear. Mukuro kneels down and opens her sewing kit, and within a few quick stitches, the skirt looks as good as new.

"You're all good," Mukuro says, getting to her feet, "Anything else that you need?"

Sayaka asks quietly, "Will you please stay? I... I want to remain like this, just a little longer."

Mukuro steps up to her, offering the softest expression a half-dead ex-soldier could, "Of course. I was hoping you'd say that.”

Sayaka moves closer, taking Mukuro's hands. There's a look in her eyes, wide and haunted, like the fall of a house in the midst of an opium high.

"I don't want to lose any of this," she whispers, hardly audible.

Mukuro parts her lips to speak, but falls silent and drops her sewing kit when Sayaka cups her face. Her hands are soft. She kisses Mukuro with a messy intensity, strong and painful and yet still sweet.

Anyone could walk in at the moment; the dressing room doors don't have locks. But despite this danger - the chance that this could be their last moment, last embrace, last everything - Mukuro feels no fear, because Sayaka is the only thing in the world that matters.

Hot tears run down her cheeks. Mukuro doesn’t know which one of them is crying, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re both wounded enough to deserve to.

For a moment, they break apart ever so slightly. Despite the blurring in her eyes, Mukuro is able to see the shiny smudges on Sayaka’s face right before the idol kisses her again. Mukuro grips onto her shoulders, pulling Sayaka closer to her.

Finally, they pull away. Sayaka rubs her eyes and whispers, “Are you safe?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Mukuro croaks back, brushing a strand of hair out of Sayaka’s face, “You?”

Sayaka laughs bitterly, “The same as you.”

She leans in and kisses Mukuro one last time, tenderness and tragedy behind the action.

Mukuro whispers into her ear, “Make sure you fix your lip gloss.”

_And please take care of yourself._

Sayaka nods, “I will. And I promise to take care.”

Mukuro blinks, “How did you know-“

“I’m psychic,” Sayaka says, grinning a bit. At the sight of Mukuro’s bewildered expression, she adds, “Kidding. It’s just keen intuition.”

Mukuro chuckles, but it sounds hollow.

Gently, Sayaka pushes her away, “You better get back to her before it’s too long. Goodbye… I’ll see you soon.”

“I hope so,” Mukuro responds, “Bye, Sayaka.”

She picks up the kit and hurries out of the dressing room. She sneaks one last glance at Sayaka, who is already standing at her mirror with a tube of lip gloss, then leaves her be. Once Mukuro ascertains that nobody else is around, she wipes her mouth on her sleeve. Junko can’t ever find out about this.

Mukuro half walks half jogs down to Junko’s dressing room and slips inside. Tsumiki is back, leaning against the wall with a reddened tissue pressed against her nose.

Junko stares at Mukuro’s reflection in the mirror, “I was starting to wonder where you went. Did Maizono-san want _that much_ from you?”

Mukuro gulps, “It was a big tear.”

Junko shakes her head slightly, then falls still before turning around to face her, “Hey. Come here for a moment.”

Mukuro attempts to subtly wipe her sleeve on the back of her pants as she walks over, “Y-Yes, Junko-chan?”

Junko places her hand under Mukuro’s chin and tilts it slightly, “Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

“Uh,” Mukuro responds intelligently.

Junko squints and examines her face closer, “Maizono-san didn’t hit you, did she? You may be a disaster, but nobody hurts my sister.”

Mukuro shakes her head, “No, I… I just got dust in my eyes. It’s fine.”

Junko releases her face, then picks up a cup of coffee. She looks Mukuro up and down as she takes a large drink, then spits it all in her face. Mukuro slams her eyes shut, the hot liquid dripping down every inch of her skin.

“Now you really do have something in your eyes,” Junko says flippantly, “I’m going on stage for my part in a few. Don’t destroy the place, you two.”

Mukuro doesn’t even dare move until she hears the door close. Her stomach seems ready to vomit. She turns, ready to try and find a bathroom, when she feels a light touch on her arm. She cracks one eye open to see Tsumiki standing next to her, offering a wad of tissues.

She gratefully takes them and wipes her face and chest down. Once she’s able to properly see again, Mukuro throws the tissues out and says, “Thank you so much. You’ve saved me twice now, huh?”

Tsumiki mumbles, “It’s n-nothing.”

A constriction forms in Mukuro’s chest. Tsumiki has been nothing but kind to her, even though she could just as easily ignore her. And Tsumiki, as far as she knows, does not have a Sayaka to come to her rescue.

Her mind flashes to the first aid kit that sits under the driver’s seat in her car.

Mukuro says gently, “Hey, do you want me to look at your nose?”

The corners of Tsumiki’s mouth turn up, barely visible due to the hanging tissue, as tears well in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the very first scene i ever wrote for this fic is in this chapter


	6. Rollercoaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an excuse for why this chapter took forever... it's been done for months. I was trying to operate on a schedule but that clearly didn't work out.

“As a reward for your surprisingly competent performance this evening, you have the rest of the night to yourselves. Please do not do anything to embarrass either of our good names.”

Satomi and Kasumi let out a whoop at Kita’s announcement, while Hanako and Ayaka’s eyes light up. Sayaka smiles along with them, but it’s hollow. Her mind keeps going back to the interview with Junko, despite her attempts to flush it out.

She’s spent years lying to the public about her opinions on other people, but fooling fellow celebrities wasn’t the same. And with her newfound knowledge of Junko’s abusive and manipulative behaviour, Sayaka felt as if the blonde could see right through her.

Her fists unconsciously curl up. Sayaka bites her lip to avoid scowling in front of her friends.

During their brief encounters in the dressing room, Sayaka had come to the conclusion that she hated Junko, perhaps more than she hated Kita. Perhaps more than herself.

“Are you excited, Saya-chan?”

Sayaka blinks and turns to look at Ayaka. Her smile is wide, but upon looking Sayaka in the eyes, her entire demeanor changes. The blue haired girl glances over her head, keeping an eye on Kita as he exits the rented out studio. She doesn’t dare speak until he’s gone.

“Sorry,” she says quickly to Ayaka, “Yeah, I’m excited. I’m just still a bit… frazzled, I suppose. Enoshima-san makes me… uneasy.”

Ayaka crosses her arms, “Fucking tell me about it. What do you think goes on in her head? Every time I looked at her, I thought she was going to stab me.”

Sayaka laughs nervously, the thought of Mukuro’s leg wound going through her head at the same time.

“But seriously,” Ayaka adds, lowering her voice considerably, “You look awful. Did Kita-san do anything to you after the show?”

Sayaka shakes her head, “No. I promise. I haven’t even been alone with him since before we went on stage.”

Ayaka frowns, “Okay… Does it have to do with that other girl then?”

“W-What other girl?” Sayaka responds, almost too quickly.

Ayaka thinks for a moment, “The, er, black haired girl. I saw her leaving your dressing room, and it… kind of looked like she was crying? She didn’t do anything, did she?”

Sayaka shakes her head, “Nothing like that. I just borrowed her to help fix a rip in the skirt before I went back out. I don’t even know her name.”

“If you say so,” Ayaka says, turning away, “Let’s get you something to drink, Saya-chan. You need to loosen up.”

Sayaka follows after her, but her stomach remains in a tight knot. There’s no way for her to tell if Ayaka believes her or not, but her mind is already running overdrive. Ayaka can’t find out about Mukuro. Nobody can, because then they’ll both be dead.

At the drink table, Satomi thrusts a cup of suspicious purple liquid into Sayaka’s hands. She sniffs it, then raises an eyebrow and asks, “Is this spiked?”

Satomi shrugs and grabs the cup back, taking a sip, “Mm… Oh, yeah. Absolutely.”

Sayaka says shakily, “Ah, well, you keep it, then.”

Ayaka pouts, “Come on, why can’t you break your ‘no alcohol’ rule for one night? We’re all having some!”

Sure enough, Kasumi’s downing the spiked punch like there’s no tomorrow, and even Hanako looks a bit tipsy. Though, Sayaka supposes it might have to do with her small stature.

“I don’t feel comfortable,” she responds, drifting away from Ayaka and Satomi, “Let’s… turn the music up.”

Ayaka mutters some complaint as Sayaka leaves her earshot. The blue haired girl bites her lip.

The ‘no alcohol’ rule isn’t her own - though she’s never been comfortable drinking - it’s Kita’s. He’s never approved of  _ any _ member of Blue Orchid drinking, but he’ll turn a blind eye towards them after a successful show.

Except, of course, for Sayaka herself. As the centre of the idol group, it simply wouldn’t do for her to be seen completely trashed out of her mind. Or so Kita told her the first - and only - time she made the mistake of drinking, and ended up in the hospital.

Sayaka shudders and tries to flush the thought of the sterile room out of her head as she cranks up the stereo to max volume.

“Eee! Sayaka-chan, dance with me!”

Sayaka spins around just in time for Hanako to grab her hands and pull her onto the lacquered dance floor. Her ponytail smacks Sayaka in the face a couple times as they dance - or more accurately, stumble - around the black square.

They change partners a few times - Kasumi quite literally walks into Sayaka three separate times, and she finds herself spinning with Satomi one second and dipping Ayaka in the next. 

Under normal circumstances, this would be a fun night, but Sayaka can’t get Mukuro’s sad and tired expression out of her head. After a good hour of mindless twirling amidst the headache of noise, Sayaka excuses herself to use the washroom.

The light inside the small room is intense, but it provides solace from the thundering beat outside. It still causes everything to shake, but the muted effect is enough to ease Sayaka for a moment. She approaches the sink and turns on the tap, holding a paper towel under the water.

As she wipes down her face, Sayaka feels a peculiar sensation from her left foot. She ponders it for a only a moment, remembering that she had stashed the prepaid phone inside. She fishes it out from the compartment of her shoe and answers it without thinking.

It then strikes her that exactly three people have this number, and one of them is herself.

“Hello?” Sayaka asks, trying to keep her voice low. It’s unlikely that she’ll be heard over the pumping music, and her bandmates are likely too smashed to eavesdrop even if she was audible, but she supposes that it doesn’t hurt to be careful, especially considering her current situation.

“Sayaka?”

The voice that comes out of the speakers sounds so wounded and desperate that all her caution flies out the window,  _ “Mukuro?!  _ Are you okay? I thought you wouldn’t be able to call me, since your sister-”

“Payphone,” Mukuro whispers hoarsely, “There was one about two miles from the studio.”

Sayaka attempts to convert the number in her head, but gets lost and instead asks, “Did something happen after I left?”

Mukuro replies shakily, “I… messed something up. I’m not sure what I did, but it was… it was bad enough for her to s-strike my face.”

“Oh God…” Sayaka murmurs, “Are you hurt bad?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Mukuro assures her, “I’ll be okay- wait, shit, I’m bleeding again. Hold on.”

Sayaka winces. There’s a small, staticky sound on the other end of the line for a moment or so.

“Back,” Mukuro says.

Sayaka asks, “What did she do after? I mean, there’s probably a reason you’re at a payphone, right? I… don’t think that you just really wanted some fresh air.”

Mukuro responds, “She… She took my car and left me stranded… somewhere in Kizugawa. There aren’t any trains or buses still running, and it took me over an hour to even  _ drive _ here.”

“I’ll come get you,” Sayaka promises, “Can you name any nearby landmarks?”

Mukuro says, “I’m right near a furniture store, and there’s an electronics place across the street. Two or so miles from the studio.”

Sayaka mentally recites the information, then says, “Got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“See you soon,” Mukuro whispers, “And… thank you.”

Sayaka smiles, “Of course. Bye.” She hangs up and hides her phone again.

It hits her like a truck a moment after - how is she supposed to pick up Mukuro? She  _ can _ drive, albeit not well, but she doesn’t have a license or a car. And the latter is of immediate concern.

Sayaka opens the bathroom door a crack. Kasumi and Ayaka are still stumbling around the room together, the former uncharacteristically giggly, and Hanako is sitting on the floor, babbling to Satomi. None of them are paying any attention to her.

Of the five of them, Satomi is the only one who can drive, which amazes Sayaka every single day. She squints across the dark room and luckily settles on her prize; Satomi’s purse. Conveniently, it’s right by the door.

It’s a three second dart from the bathroom to the purse. Sayaka takes in the room for another moment, then makes a break for it. She snatches the flower print bag and gets out the door, hopefully without arousing any suspicion.

If they  _ did _ notice, then she’s dead. But Mukuro is all that matters right now, and so Sayaka shakes off the anxiety and roots through Satomi’s purse. Her keys are mercifully right near the top.

She runs down the back staircase, her footsteps echoing around the concrete room, all the way to the parking lot. Sayaka finds Satomi’s car and climbs inside, shoving the keys in the ignition before even managing to close the door.

“Two miles from the studio in Kizugawa,” Sayaka murmurs as the starts the engine, “I’ll find you. I promise.”

-

The drive to Kizugawa ends up taking longer than Sayaka expected. She supposes that being a bad driver, and also not really having any damn clue where she’s going doesn’t help the matter.

Still, after an hour and a half of driving, Sayaka finally spots someone standing near a phone booth in the parking lot of a furniture store. She pulls in as fast as she can and leaps out of the car, her heart rising into her throat.

“Mukuro! Are you okay?”

The raven haired girl smiles at the sight of her and races forwards. Sayaka catches her in a hug and buries her face in her shoulder. Her breathing slowly eases as she clings onto the taller girl, who seems to be crying.

Eventually, Sayaka pulls away and prepares to say something, only to fall silent at the sight of Mukuro’s face. A massive bloody scratch covers most of her forehead, and a long, red lash crosses her face at an angle.

“It looks worse than it is,” Mukuro says, “Really.”

Sayaka doesn’t believe her for a second. She grips Mukuro’s hand and asks, “Are you sure? You don’t feel… lightheaded or anything, do you?”

Mukuro shakes her head, “I don’t. It doesn’t hurt anymore, I promise. Thanks for coming to get me. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

Sayaka says, “I’m just glad that I was able to help. I hope you weren’t waiting too long… I’m not very adept at driving.”

“I didn’t even know you could drive,” Mukuro responds, “Every time we met, you were on foot.”

Sayaka rubs her neck, “Well… I don’t actually have my license.”

Mukuro blinks.

“I stole my bandmate’s car,” Sayaka adds, “She’s passed out drunk, so I doubt she’ll notice.”

Mukuro sighs softly, “Maybe I should drive back.”

Sayaka’s eyes widen, “No! You’re hurt! It’s okay, I won’t crash or anything. I know the basics, I just never passed a test.”

Mukuro smiles, “I’ll be fine. All I need is some sleep. You’re probably exhausted after your show, anyways.”

“Okay,” Sayaka relents and hands her the keys.

Mukuro walks over to the car and climbs inside. Sayaka circles the car and gets into the passenger’s seat. The other girl waits for her to have her seatbelt secured and be completely settled before she starts the car and pulls out of the dim parking lot.

There aren’t a lot of cars on the road, and Mukuro drives surprisingly fast, so they end up on the highway sooner than Sayaka expects. She leans back in her seat, ready to cruise back into Kyoto, when Mukuro suddenly squeaks.

“A-Ah!”

“Are you okay?” Sayaka asks, instantly alert.

Mukuro waves her hand and adjusts the wheel, “Yeah. It just stung for a second.”

Sayaka says, “I can take over, if you need-”

“I’m fine,” Mukuro snaps. After a moment, she mumbles, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Sayaka says quietly, “It’s okay. I wasn’t hurt by it.”

That’s a lie, but the last thing Sayaka wants to do is make the air any heavier than it already is.

She keeps her eyes focused on the blurry array of street lights outside, tapping her fingers on her leg. For the time being, she can’t bear to look at Mukuro. It’s selfish, sure, but the biting tone of her voice had been downright terrifying.

“How did the interview go?” Mukuro asks softly, trying to break the tension, “I saw your performance, but I…”

The unfinished sentence hangs awkwardly between them.

Sayaka says, “I don’t think it was terrible, but at the same time… I was scared. All I could see when I looked at her was a monster.”

Mukuro lets out a bitter laugh, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sayaka affirms, “And when I stopped by that dressing room… it was like I had ice in my veins. The way she spoke, and how she pushed you and her assistant around… I don’t know how I missed it all before.”

Mukuro says, “Nobody sees it. But it’s easier for her to get away with it, since the people she treats like this don’t really exist outside of her life.”

Sayaka retorts, “You absolutely exist! I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we first met.”

“That was complete chance,” Mukuro mutters, “And so what, you know me. Nobody else does, and there isn’t anyone who’s helping Junko-chan’s assistant. That’s why she’s never been caught.”

Sayaka grumbles, “I’ll stop her. I’ll… I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

Mukuro turns her head towards her for a moment, “Do what? She’s a force of nature.”

“I’ll kill her,” Sayaka says forcefully, “If it means getting you away from her, I’ll do it. I don’t care.”

Mukuro frowns, “She’s my sister.”

Sayaka says, “And? She’s abusing you! Don’t even try to deny that. She’s abusing you, and her assistant, and who knows how many others. Are you really saying that I shouldn’t kill her?”

“Yes!” Mukuro raises her voice, “She’s the only family I have, and I’m not about to lose her!”

“But you said it yourself, she owns you!” Sayaka yells, “I can’t just let her  _ destroy _ you, Mukuro! I… Do you expect me to just watch as she keeps hurting you?”

Mukuro whispers, “I deserve it. That’s why… It’s the only reason she would hurt me.”

Sayaka says, “No you don’t. People don’t deserve to be hurt.”

“I’m not a person,” Mukuro replies.

“Yes you-”

Mukuro says, “I’ve killed people. I used to be a fucking soldier. I have more blood on my hands than you can possibly imagine. Can you really say that I don’t deserve to be punished now?”

Sayaka whispers, “Yes. Because that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re being treated unjustly. I’ve done some pretty shitty things myself, you know. Do I deserve what my manager is doing to me?”

“No,” Mukuro responds, then pauses, “Ah.”

Sayaka says, “See? If I don’t deserve it, then you don’t either. That’s the rule.”

Mukuro murmurs, “I wish I could believe you.”

The conversation ends there. They don’t say anything else to each other, except for either asking or stating directions. Sayaka’s too tired to say anything else, and instead watches the clock on the dashboard change.

It hits  _ 3:48AM _ by the time that they park in the lot where Sayaka first took Satomi’s car. Mukuro stops the engine and turns to her with a dull look in her eyes.

“Will you be okay getting home?”

Sayaka nods, “It’s not far. What about you?”

Mukuro shrugs, “I should be fine. I’ve never had a problem in this neighbourhood before.”

Sayaka nods and places her hand on the door of the car, when Mukuro says, “Wait.”

She looks up at the girl again and stiffens when the dark haired girl leans in to kiss her softly on the lips. Sayaka returns it carefully, then silently breaks the embrace.

“I had to do that,” Mukuro mutters, “To pay you back for the dressing room.”

Sayaka giggles, “Well, I might fall in love with you, if you’re not careful, you know.”

Mukuro tenses, “Eh?”

“Actually, it’s too late,” Sayaka admits, “Way too late.”

Mukuro bites her lip, “I don’t think I can say the same. I’m sorry, Sayaka.”

Sayaka hunches, “Oh. I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“We’ve known each other for what… five days now?” Mukuro says, “That’s not enough time. We barely know each other, and you think you’re in love with me?”

Sayaka shrugs, “I… Yeah. Yeah, I do think that.”

Mukuro mutters, “That’s a bad idea. You shouldn’t… put all your faith in me so easily. I know I’m being hypocritical, since I just… I fucking phoned you to help me.”

“I came to help you,” Sayaka reminds her.

Mukuro rubs her temples, “I’ve spent the last few days risking my life for you. And maybe our situations play into it, but… I really can’t say that I’m in love with you, no matter what you believe about me. Maybe with more time, I could, but for now… I think it’s too soon to tell.”

“I see,” Sayaka says softly. 

Mukuro says, “Pretty shitty thing for the person who just kissed you to say, I know.”

Sayaka smiles, “No, you’re right. I’ve… rushed through this. It’s my fault, I just haven’t ever been around someone who’s understood me before.”

Mukuro nods, “Yeah. Nobody’s ever cared about me like you have.”

Sayaka reaches out and squeezes her hand, “Mm. I hope you find other people who do care, because  _ that’s _ what you deserve. And… thank you for being honest with me.”

Mukuro shrugs, “Thank you for listening. Get home safe, Sayaka.”

“You too,” Sayaka replies, getting out of the car.

Tears blur her vision for only a minute.

-

By the time she gets back to her apartment, Sayaka feels ready to pass out. She forces herself to sit down on her sofa and breathe, intense emotions running through her.

She really does hate Junko, Junko Enoshima who has done nothing but terrorize Mukuro for what seems to be literal years.

“How does it feel?” she whispers to the carpet, “How does it feel to know that your days are fucking numbered?”

Despite Mukuro’s insistence, Sayaka can’t get the thought of murdering Junko out of her head. After all, she is unquestionably the root of all of Mukuro's problems. The only problem is that without her, Mukuro has no car, no job, and no apartment.

Sayaka deliberates over this issue silently, unsure of where she can go from here. Could she provide any support to Mukuro given her own circumstances? And what if she left it all alone; could Mukuro  _survive?_

The broken, destroyed voice that Mukuro had when she answered the phone floats back into her head, and the various wounds threaten to choke her.

She can’t sit back and watch Mukuro fade into nothing. That would make her complacent, and Sayaka isn’t sure that she could ever live with herself if she was responsible, even indirectly, for hurting Mukuro.

In the end, she reaches for the prepaid phone and types in a number from memory.

"How did you get this number?"

Sayaka winces. It's the same harsh tone she remembers.

"I-It's Maizono, from high school," she says quickly, "I still remembered it."

There's a long pause on the other end of the line. Then:

"Ah. What is it?"

Sayaka takes a deep breath, "I... I need a favour, Harukawa-san. Can you help me?”


	7. Asthenia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to copy and paste this in line by line

“Did you really think that I _wouldn’t_ find out about Maizono-san?”

Junko sticks one bright red fingernail into Mukuro’s cheek, a fanged grin adorning her face.

Mukuro splutters, “It isn’t what you think, I s-swear-”

Junko presses the nail harder, “Don’t lie to me. I saw how you acted around her at the show. And her taking you away to ‘fix a rip’ is the worst fucking tall tale I’ve ever heard.”

Mukuro glances around, but there’s no escape in sight; just the four white walls of the interrogation room. She whispers, “That doesn’t mean anything... My loyalty is to you. Always to you.”

Junko cackles, “That had better be the case. It wouldn’t bode well for you if that was another awful lie. Tell me, Muku-chan, if you really love me... would you kill Maizono-san? Don’t think about it, just answer.”

“I...” Mukuro falls short, unable come up with a response. She could never kill Sayaka, not after all that’s happened.

Junko slaps her across the face, “So it is a farce! You conniving little bitch!”

“Junko-chan!” Mukuro exclaims, too stunned to say anything else.

Junko hisses, “I don’t give a single damn about Maizono-san. But you know what I do care about? You. And I could make you disappear down the drain in a matter of seconds.”

Mukuro chokes out, “You wouldn’t.”

Junko says, “You know I will. You mean nothing to anyone else. Maizono-san is using you for her own gain. I am the only person who loves you.”

“You love me?” Mukuro asks, widening her eyes.

Junko slaps her again, “Don’t get ahead of yourself! You’re useless and I’d hit you again if it wouldn’t hurt my hand.”

Mukuro nods quickly, “I understand.”

“No you don’t,” Junko says, cupping Mukuro’s face with her hands, “If you really understand me, you’ll push Maizono-san into traffic, at the very least. I want her dead and out of your fucking life. Are we clear?!”

Mukuro gulps.

"Crystal."

-

Mukuro shoots awake with sweat running down her face.

For once, the familiar darkness of her bedroom is a comfort to her; proving that the terror running through her veins is nothing more than an after effect of the dream.

Just to be safe, she calls out.

“Junko-chan? Are you there?”

There’s no response, not even an exhale. She really is alone, then.

Her hand reaches down the side of her bed and strokes the wooden floor as the remains of her nightmare dissipate. She brushes her phone and picks it up, pulling it out of the wall charger.

Mukuro turns it on, squinting as the bright light strains her eyes. It’s half past five in the morning. There aren’t any texts from Junko, but she did find her car in the lot below last night, so she doesn’t have to worry about her.

Yet.

She moves to push her bangs out of her eyes, when her fingers rest on the bloody scratch on her forehead. Mukuro stops still for a moment, then traces the lash across her cheek, trembling slightly.

It’s something that no amount of toilet paper and tap water can fix. Mukuro kicks her sheets off and stands up, shivering as her bare feet make contact with the floor.

She slowly makes her way to the bathroom and flicks on the light, half expecting to see Junko’s reflection in the mirror when she does so. Her ugly face is all alone, but she isn’t sure whether or not that’s a good thing.

The plain first aid kit sits in the cabinet under the sink, right at the front. Mukuro pulls it out and places it on the edge of the sink, opening the latch carefully.

It stings, but the hydrogen peroxide cleans the scratches well enough. They’re still unfortunately prominent, but she doesn’t have anything in the box she can use to hide them.

Mukuro stares at her reflection in the dirty mirror, then puts the kit back under the sink.

She’s halfway into the kitchen - prepared to suck back some sludge and drag herself into work - when her phone rings. Mukuro answers without even thinking.

"H-Hello?"

Junko’s voice crackles through the speakers, “Don’t fucking yell at me. I finally started to forgive you for what you did to me last night.”

Mukuro swallows. For some reason, ridiculous as it was, she was hoping the caller would be Sayaka. Realizing Junko wants an answer, she says, “I didn’t notice you were the one calling.”

“Who the fuck else phones you?” Junko responds, “Whatever. Anyways, I thought I’d let you know that you have the day off. I need a brain day or two to start generating ideas, and I’m not about to be bothered by anyone, especially you.”

Mukuro blinks, “Uh, thank you. I appreciate it, Junko-chan.”

I’m sure you do,” Junko grumbles, “Have a great day doing whatever boring freaks like you do.”

Mukuro scowls, “I’ll hang out with a friend.”

Junko bursts into laughter, “Good one! But don’t kid yourself, sis. You and I both know that nobody loves your bitch ass.”

She hangs up without another word.

Mukuro slumps, her arms smacking against her sides. At the very least, her dream hasn’t yet come to pass. She glances at the ajar door to her bedroom and considers going back to sleep, when her phone buzzes in her hand.

Junko must have forgotten something. Mukuro looks down at the screen, then tilts her head in confusion.

 **75-4329-8713:** Congratulations! You are the lucky winner of our 20XX Annual Sweepstakes! To claim your prize of ¥55,000, please follow the enclosed link! <http://www.goo.gl/ExsmAu>. 

Mukuro stares blankly at the text. It’s clearly a scam, or at least, it would be, if she didn’t know that the number was Sayaka’s. Saving the contact to her phone would have been suicide, but she had long since memorized the string.

Her finger hovers over the link. Sayaka wouldn’t send her anything malicious, and she’s terrifyingly smart. Selecting it shouldn’t do anything harmful… right?

Mukuro believes in Sayaka, more than she’s ever believed in anyone, but the last person that she trusted like this was Junko.

_Stupid, stupid idiot. She doesn’t love you, she’s never loved you, and she’s just going to hurt you._

She’s unable to tell if the demon in her brain is referring to Sayaka, or her sister.

Mukuro presses the link before her intrusive thoughts can progress any further. It immediately redirects her to the internet application, loading a plain text page.

_!DELETE THE TEXT AND CLEAR YOUR HISTORY AS SOON AS YOU READ THIS!_

_Mukuro. Make sure you’re out of your apartment complex this evening. 6-9PM should be good. I can’t elaborate, just trust me on this._

_I love you._

_-Sayaka._

Mukuro reads the note over three times - more than she safely should - then follows Sayaka’s instructions. If Junko finds out about this text, then Mukuro is dead.

But then again, she’s been dead for years. Her name is enough proof of that. And if she’s going to truly, completely trust in Sayaka, like the gnawing pit in her stomach is begging her to, then she has to follow along with this instruction.

Sayaka. What has driven her to put everything on the line for this girl? Mukuro scratches her palm lightly.

Her forehead throbs again.

-

Junko’s interview finishes and Mukuro instantly stands to attention. She casts a glance at Tsumiki, who looks even paler than usual.

It isn’t a long trek from the stage to the dressing room. While Mukuro feels dismay at this, it means that her anxiety doesn’t have time to spike through the roof while waiting on her sister’s return.

The door is thrown open. Tsumiki flinches and Mukuro nervously turns to face her sister. Junko’s face is oddly calm, but an unsettling flame flickers in her eyes.

Something went wrong.

“Tsumiki-san,” she says, no trace of emotion in her voice, “You’re free for the night. Get out of here this second. And don’t say anything that might make me change my mind.”

Tsumiki lowers her head and rushes out of the room. She doesn’t dare even look in Mukuro’s direction, but frankly, Mukuro would be concerned if she _did_ risk it. In their situation, it’s better to keep quiet.

Junko keeps her eyes trained on the girl until she’s gone. Then, she looks back at Mukuro and walks up to her. For a moment, she stares silently into her eyes, then places a hand on Mukuro’s shoulder.

“Oh, Muku-chan…” she breathes, “You must think that I’m stupid.”

Mukuro frowns, “No? I’ve never thought that.”

Wished it, sure. But one of the few things Mukuro is certain of is that Junko is smarter than she will ever be. It’s just a fact of life.

Junko’s mouth twitches, “Really? I could have sworn you did. It doesn’t really matter, though, because _you’re_ the stupid one. Stupid, stupid Mukuro.”

Her voice is still eerily calm.

“Junko-chan, what are you-”

Junko slams her other hand into the wall, “I know what you’re up to. I know _everything.”_

Mukuro flinches. The grip Junko has on her shoulder tightens as she does so. Yet again, her sister is the winner.

Not that Mukuro’s ever done anything besides lose. This is the end of her life.

“You tipped off the interviewer,” Junko snarls, “Got him to ask all those weird questions that I never prepared for… You got him to purposely fuck me over!”

Mukuro blinks, “I… What?”

She almost laughs, but manages to keep her face still. Her sister’s accusatory tone and words truly had Mukuro believing that Junko had found out about her and Sayaka.

Unfortunately, Junko takes her confusion and vague relief as a confession, and smashes Mukuro’s own sewing kit against her forehead.

“J-Junko-chan…” Mukuro croaks as blood drips into her eyes.

“Shut the fuck up!” Junko screeches, raking her sharpened nails across Mukuro’s face.

Mukuro slumps over, her vision blurring as her ears ring. Junko kicks her in the chest as she falls, cementing the impact with the cold floor.

Junko’s voice begins to fade out as her footsteps ring through the room, “I’ll be taking your car back. Find your own way home, you stupid bitch.”

By the time Mukuro manages to sit up, Junko is long gone. She presses her sleeve against the burning, bloody scratches, as tears well in her eyes.

Junko always wins.

-

The grocery store’s pharmacy really isn’t the best place for any kind of medical treatment, but it’s the next stop on Mukuro’s rotation, and she’s in desperate need of something to disinfect her face.

Plus, it’s almost six in the evening. She’s not supposed to be home right now, though she can’t fathom why.

She climbs out of her car and makes her way inside, approaching the counter with as neutral an expression as she can muster.

“Hi,” she greets the worker carefully, placing the bandages and iodine on the counter.

The woman turns to greet her with a smile, then sees her face and screams, “Eeaugh!”

Another woman behind the counter - with silver hair and a mask - drops a bottle and hisses softly.

“Sorry, Kimura-san!” the first worker winces, “And Tenko is very sorry to have reacted that way to you. She’d like to offer a discount.”

Mukuro blinks, “It’s… fine. I don’t really care.”

The worker - Tenko? - wrings her hands, “Are you alright? Your cuts look rather deep.”

“I just fell down the stairs,” Mukuro replies, the lie slipping out of her mouth without hesitation, “It looks worse than it is.”

Tenko keeps a worried expression on her face as she rings up Mukuro’s purchases. When she finishes and hands Mukuro a small plastic bag, she adds, “Tenko really isn’t sure that she can let you leave like this.”

Mukuro tenses. Is this it? Is this where everything goes wrong? If she can escape the situation without the police being called, then she can’t ever return here. If she can’t escape…

Mukuro wonders how difficult it would be to snap Tenko’s neck with her hands.

Tenko hands her a small card and jolts Mukuro out of her bad thoughts, “Here. This is the address of a walk-in clinic in the area. Tenko has a friend who works there.”

“I don’t need to see a doctor,” Mukuro responds.

Tenko looks at her with sad eyes, “Please? Tenko’s seen a lot of battered women in her days. Her friend won’t say a word if you don’t want her to.”

Mukuro glances at the clock hanging at the back of the pharmacy. It’s ten minutes to seven. She can’t go home, even if she wanted to.

Why she’s listening to Sayaka’s strange request is still beyond her.

She tucks the business card into her pocket, “Thank you.”

Tenko smiles, “Thank _you._ Oh, one other thing.”

Mukuro blinks and watches as Tenko pulls out a small piece of paper and scrawls a message onto it. When she’s done, she hands it to Mukuro too.

“Give this to the receptionist at the clinic,” Tenko says, “So you don’t have to wait a few hours.”

Mukuro looks at the note. Why is Tenko being so kind to her? They’ve never met before, and she has no reason to look out for her.

The raw, well meaning kindness overflowing from Tenko causes Mukuro to slip the note into her pocket next to the card.

“Have a safe night,” Tenko says with a soft smile.

Mukuro forces herself to mirror her as she clutches the plastic bag in her hand, “You too.”

-

The clinic is a thirty minute drive from the grocery store.

On the way, Mukuro finds herself staring at the local graveyard while stopped at a red light. Her throat tightens. She doesn’t want to end up buried there.

The light turns green and Mukuro keeps driving.

When she arrives, she carefully takes in the building. For a lone clinic, it’s very tall. Mukuro can hardly see the rooftop.

She crosses the parking lot and enters the clinic, shivering at the sudden appearance of air conditioning. The waiting room is mostly empty, the only patients being a snoring girl with pink hair, and a blonde boy with an eyepatch who can't be older than twelve.

Mukuro approaches the red-haired receptionist with trepidation. She can’t remember the last time that she was in a place like this.

The receptionist smiles, though her eyes momentarily widen at the sight of her face, “Hi there, welcome to Epicurus Clinic. Could I please get your name?”

Mukuro freezes for a moment. A name? Telling Sayaka was one thing. This is the name that will go down in this place’s record books forever.

“Mitsuko Otonashi,” she says, her mouth souring as her birth name enters the air.

The receptionist writes this down and says, “Alright. Please have a seat, and we’ll bring you in as soon as possible.”

Mukuro reaches into her pocket and produces Tenko’s note, “Oh, er… I was asked to give you this.”

The red-haired woman takes it from her, “A referral? In that case, come with me right now. My apologies.”

Mukuro’s stomach lurches, “Okay.”

She follows the receptionist through a small door and down a narrow hallway, to a room that Mukuro assumes is where she’ll meet the doctor.

Mukuro sits on a paper covered bed and looks around. Are these kinds of rooms supposed to look like this? She can barely remember what the last clinic she went to looked like, but she doesn’t believe they had a poster of a black and white bear with a sinister grin on the wall.

Mukuro tries not to look at it. The bear is genuinely unsettling.

The door swings open after a couple minutes, and Mukuro prepares herself for an influx of questions, only go to still at the sight of the woman who’s just walked in.

“Tsumiki-san?” Mukuro whispers, “You work here?”

Tsumiki nearly throws the clipboard she’s holding, “I-Ikusaba-san! W-What are you d-doing here?”

Mukuro murmurs, “A woman named Tenko insisted I come here when she saw my face. I didn’t have it in me to say no.”

Tsumiki says, “Tenko-san is always t-trying to help… Sometimes a little t-too much.”

Mukuro silently wonders about the low bitterness in Tsumiki’s voice.

“I didn’t know you had medical training,” Mukuro says, trying to deflect the topic slightly.

Tsumiki smiles, “I-I’ve always had interest i-in nursing. I’ve b-been taking night c-classes, and working h-here whenever I’m n-not with… Enoshima-san.”

Mukuro scratches the paper on the bed, “Ah.”

“You can’t t-tell her that I’m here,” Tsumiki adds, “I feel like i-it might make her angry.”

Mukuro says, “I won’t, as long as you don’t tell her that I was here either.”

Tsumiki nods, “Of c-course. D-Did she do this to you? When she t-told me to leave l-last night-”

“Yes,” Mukuro says quietly.

Tsumiki frowns, “Was this… the f-first time she’s done a-anything like that? I know with… the coffee...”

Mukuro pauses, then shakes her head after a moment and rolls up her pant leg to reveal the still bandaged wound, “This too. And a lot else that’s healed.”

Tsumiki swallows. Mukuro glances at the tight bandages that run up and down the other girl’s arms and legs. What goes on between Junko and Tsumiki behind closed doors? Her sister doesn’t seem to have any hesitation about hurting her assistant.

She wonders for a moment if Sayaka was right about Junko needing to be stopped. Mukuro quickly shakes the thought away; Junko is her _sister._

Tsumiki carefully sets her clipboard down on the counter and says, “L-Let me clean you up, Ikusaba-san.”

-

By the time Mukuro gets back to her apartment, it’s just after nine. She parks her car and heads up into the lobby to climb the stairs, then pauses at the sight of calamity inside.

At least half the occupants of the building are standing in the lobby and spilling out onto the street. Flashing lights and a low rumble of voices fill the area.

_What the hell happened here?_

Mukuro slips into the crowd, trying to catch the words of the people around. Outside, she can see an ambulance and a few police cars.

As Mukuro pushes through, she overhears one of her neighbours ask, “What’s going on? Nobody will tell me anything!”

Someone else responds, “I don’t know any of the details… but the girl in 627 hung herself.”

Junko set up Mukuro to live in the same apartment building as her when she first returned from Fenrir. Apparently, it was a good way for the two to always be in close proximity, but not stepping on each other’s toes.

Bile fills her throat. This can’t be right. She was talking to Junko fifteen hours ago.

“Are you sure?!” Mukuro speaks before realizing, cutting into her neighbours conversation, “627?”

Her neighbour runs his hand through his unruly brown hair, “I’m sure. Saw the medics carrying the poor thing out myself.”

Mukuro bolts without responding, heading for the police outside. There’s a black body bag being lifted into the ambulance.

“Junko-chan!” Mukuro shouts over the noise, tears running down her face.

It has to be a lie. Junko can’t be gone. Junko is _everything_ to her. Even if she was harsh at times, she’s all Mukuro really has.

“Are you Mukuro Ikusaba?”

The voice startles Mukuro so bad that she nearly chokes out the person speaking. She manages to relax just in time, seeing a police uniform.

“Y-Yes,” she says, “Is… is my sister…”

The officer nods, “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m Detective Naegi, and I’d just like to ask you a question or two.”

Mukuro whispers, “Who… Who hurt her?”

Naegi says, “Your sister’s death looks to be a suicide, but her apartment shows signs of forced entry. We aren’t sure quite yet what the ruling is.”

“Oh my god,” Mukuro whispers as more tears fill her eyes, “Why… why would…”

All of a sudden, Sayaka’s promise to kill Junko fills her mind, and it takes all of Mukuro’s strength to avoid vomiting onto Naegi’s shoes.

“Has Enoshima-san ever shown signs of suicidal behaviour before this?” he asks.

Mukuro’s heart lodges itself in her throat.

_What do I…_

“I… Yes,” Mukuro murmurs, cementing her fate with this lie, “She’s been… struggling with bad depression since we were teenagers. And she’s… tried to hurt herself, but… But I never… She seemed so _happy_ lately.”

Her words feel heavy. She might really throw up.

Naegi writes this down, “I see. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask a couple more questions, about Enoshima-san’s actions, and… your own as well.”

“Okay,” Mukuro murmurs.

She’s starting to shake.

-

Naegi’s interrogation finishes just before midnight. Mukuro stumbles back to her apartment and sits down on the floor, staring at the wall.

Junko is dead. Her only family is gone. Who is she anymore? Now that she’s all alone again?

The wall doesn’t answer any of the questions burning in her mind.

Mukuro doesn’t move for the next hour and a half. Her final conversation with her sister keeps replaying in her head, over and over again. Could she have saved her?

A light knock on the door rouses her. Mukuro scrambles to her feet, praying that she’ll see Junko there, see her pigtails and bright smile and that it’ll all be a lie.

She throws open the door, only to be faced with the exact opposite of her sister.

“Sayaka?” Mukuro breathes. She’s in the same hoodie and sweatpants she was when they first met.

Sayaka smiles weakly at her and steps inside, “I heard the news. Are you okay?”

Mukuro closes the door, “I… No. No, I can’t be okay.”

Sayaka says, “I’m sorry. But… I’m really glad to see that you’re alive and safe.”

She reaches out, likely to caress Mukuro’s face, but Mukuro grabs her wrist and grips it tight, staring her right in the eyes.

“Sayaka. What did you _do?”_

Sayaka doesn’t answer her.


End file.
